


The Love Story of Man and Time

by MyLifeUnedited



Category: Band of Brothers, Generation Kill, The Pacific (TV)
Genre: M/M, timetravelling!au, totally self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 66,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4209378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLifeUnedited/pseuds/MyLifeUnedited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad goes where Nate cannot, and heartbreak is never far behind. It is like losing a piece of his own soul, each time he finds a smashed plate or discarded article of clothing. Nate knows that he always comes back, but he also knows that it only takes a single time to make 'always' a lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Man out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Based entirely on "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger. I do not own any rights to the story nor do I mean any harm to the men whose names appear in this story. The characters are based solely on those created in "Generation Kill" (2008), "Band of Brothers" (2001), and "The Pacific" (2010) on HBO. Constructive criticism is very much welcomed!

****

_Friday, January 12, 1998 (Nate is 19, Brad is 27)_

The library is ominously silent, Nate thinks. Not that libraries aren't always quiet, but one look around shows Nate that the only people there are an old man in the corner and the female behind the special collections desk.

He walks forward and sees that there's a request form ready to be filled out. He grabs a pen and scribbles out a few book names. The art history class he's being forced to take for extra credits has a six-page paper due in a week and Nate doesn't know a thing about the backstory of Vincent Van Gogh's childhood.

"Sorry," he says, looking over at the girl behind the counter. "I was wondering if you had any of these on the shelves." He asks. She opens her mouth and then spots something just over Nate's left shoulder.

"Perhaps Mr. _Colbert_ can help you." She says rather sharply. Nate doesn't have time to wonder about her tone, though, because when he turns to see who she's talking to, he comes face to face with none other than Brad. _His_ Brad. Clothed and calm, with a shadow of facial hair and a face that is much younger than Nate's ever seen him.

Nate breaks into a ridiculous grin and Brad stares at him, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another.

"Is...Can I help you with something?" Brad asks him, and Nate can't contain himself.

"Brad!" Nate doesn't remember feeling more excited. Maybe Christmas when he was a kid, but that still feels second to this feeling of absolute joy after finally meeting Brad again.

"Sorry," Brad says, staring at him in confusion. "Have we met? I don't-" He's glancing at the woman at the desk, but Nate doesn't even register that. He can't stop looking at Brad's gorgeous face. His face flushes slightly when he remembers that the last time he'd seen Brad, his lips had been brushing Nate's pulse point as he told him soon they'd be together officially.

"No, _I'm_ sorry." Nate says, still grinning. "I'm Nate Fick. I knew you when I was a kid."

Nate has been in love with Brad Colbert for something like thirteen years, and now here they are, Brad knowing absolutely nothing about the young man in front of him. For the first time, Nate knows things that Brad doesn't.

"Would you like to get coffee with me, or dinner or something?" Nate asks him quickly. Brad blinks, and for a second Nate thinks he's going to decline.

"Um, sure." Brad nods slowly and Nate laughs, relieved. He gives Brad the address of a diner he's been to a couple times. Brad agrees and Nate rushes out of the library, the books he needs for his paper out of his mind, and goes to his apartment to get ready for his date later that night.

Tonight, his life begins again.

 

Brad absolutely hates working at the Newberry Library. Cataloging is dull and shelving books is the epitome of boredom. He'd wanted to be a Marine once; he'd wanted to be one of those few, proud men who could slay dragons and save the day.

It never would have worked. He knows that now.

He's already traveled once this morning. Nowhere interesting, just some ratty neighborhood in South Chicago when his parents were just starting out their married life. His real parents, not the people he has now. Either way, it hadn't been anything eventful, just trying to break into a local boutique to find clothes that might fit his long frame.

He picks up the copy of _Catcher in the Rye_ he'd dropped when he'd traveled and places it on the shelf before pulling his boxers and jeans back on. He tugs his sweatshirt back on and starts towards the bathroom to look at the scratch on his arm from breaking the glass at the boutique.

He doesn't get very far when he hears Vera's stern voice say, "Perhaps Mr. _Colbert_ can help you." Brad knows that voice all too well. It's Vera's way of saying, _if you go to that bathroom again, I'm calling an ambulance. Or your mother._

Brad turns and comes face to face with a younger man who is smiling at him like the sun shines out of his ass. The guy is astoundingly good looking, with short brown hair and these green eyes that are absolutely gorgeous.

The only problem is: this guy seems to know him, whereas Brad is quite sure he's never met him in his life. Brad clears his throat slightly, trying to remain as professional as possible when he can feel a trail of blood sliding down his arm.

"Is - Can I help you with something?" He asks slowly. The guy just keeps grinning.

"Brad!" He exclaims, and for a second, Brad is almost certain this guy is going to jump him.

"Sorry," he replies, starting to feel shaky. He can feel Vera giving him an incredulous look that very much says, _you're an asshole_. "Have we met? I don't-"

"No, _I'm_ sorry!" The guy says, and he's so fucking happy. Brad didn't think it was possible for someone to be this excited. "I'm Nate Fick. I knew you when I was a kid." And then he proceeds to ask Brad on a date.

A _date_ , with a guy who knows him and clearly cares for him. Brad can't decide if he's elated or utterly terrified.

Brad agrees, because really, what else can he do? He's unshaven, he's just traveled in time so he knows he looks like a mess, and he's still a little hung over from last night. This guy still looking at him like that makes him wonder how he'll look at him when Brad _shaves_.

The guy, Nate, leaves the library with a bounce in his step and Brad just stares after him.

"You're bleeding." Vera says after a moment and Brad remembers he was doing something. For now though, he's never felt better.

*

Nate is absurdly pleased when Brad shows up to the diner, five minutes late and a little sweaty in his dress shirt and a green tie wrapped _almost_ straight around his neck. Nate is dressed in a dark red shirt and black dress pants. He looks neat and clean and it's Brad's turn to want to jump _him_.

Brad slides into the booth across from him and just watches as Nate's eyes dance playfully from where he sits across the table. Brad has never been in this situation before, where he's met someone who _knows_ him, not just some stranger who had met his future self in passing.

"Tell me." Brad says after the waitress has given them their menus.

"Tell you what?" Nate asks.

" _Everything_." Brad laughs slightly. "I mean, do you understand why I don't know you? I'm really sorry about that-"

"No! You shouldn't be." It's Nate's turn to laugh. "I mean, I know why that is. It's because for you, none of this has happened yet, but for me, I've known you for several years."

"How many, exactly?"

"Almost thirteen years." Nate says. "I first saw you when I was six."

"Christ," Brad chuckles. "Have you seen me very often? Or a few times?"

"The last time I saw you, you told me to bring this to dinner when we met." Nate says, pulling out a small notebook. "Here, you can have it."

Brad opens it to see a neat list of dates written out, beginning in 1984 and ending in 1996. Between those, there are around a hundred and fifty dates written in precise, pointed writing.

"You made a list?" Brad stares up at him. "These are all accurate?"

"Actually, _you_ dictated this to me." Nate laughs. "You told me a few years ago that you memorized the dates from this list. So, I don't know how exactly this exists; I mean, it seems like a Catch-22 type thing, but whatever. They're accurate; I used them to know when to go down to the Meadow to meet you."

The waitress comes back then and takes their orders and their menus. Brad can't stop staring into Nate's bright, green eyes. "The Meadow?"

"It's a part of my parent's home in Maryland. There are trees at one edge of it, and the house sits at the opposite end. In the middle of the trees is this clearing about ten feet in diameter. When you're there, no one at the house can see you. I would play out there all the time and I could just pretend no one knew where I was. One day when I was in first grade, I came home from school and went out to the clearing and there you were.

"Stark naked and throwing up, right?" Brad asks.

"Actually, you seemed pretty self-possessed. I remember you knew my name and then you vanished quite spectacularly. In retrospect, it's obvious it wasn't your first time meeting me. I think the first time _you_ met _me,_ I was about ten. You kept saying 'no fucking way' and 'this isn't fucking happening'. You were pretty freaked out. You kept staring at me and you were worried about the fact that you were naked. I guess by that time, I didn't even notice. I just knew to have clothes and food ready for you."

Nate smiles and Brad gets lost in the contours of his face. He finally asks, "How old was I?"

"I think the oldest I've ever seen you was around forty. I'm not really sure about the youngest. Maybe late twenties, early thirties? How old are you right now?"

"I'm twenty-seven." Brad replies. Nate nods slowly.

"You look really young to me. The last few years you were in your mid thirties, I think, and you were having kind of a rough time. It's hard to say, though. When you're young all adults look old and tired."

"So what did we do?" Brad asks as the waitress sets two steaming plates in front of them. "In the Meadow, I mean. We seemed to have spent a lot of time there."

"We did a lot of things." Nate says, taking a bite of his chicken and letting out a small moan. Brad tries not to let that sound go straight to his dick. "It changed depending on what the weather was like and how old I was. You spent a lot of time helping me with my homework. We played games, too, but mostly, we talked."

"About what?"

"Anything you can imagine. When I was really young, I thought you were an angel; I asked you a lot about God. When I was a teenager, I kept trying to get you to have sex with me." Brad coughs slightly and takes a long drink from his water glass. Nate smiles demurely and continues, "You never would, which of course made me even more determined about it. I think you thought you were going to warp me sexually, somehow. In some ways, you were very paternal."

"I suppose that's good news." Brad comments dryly. "Though, at the moment, I don't really want you to see me as _paternal_." Nate blushes a little and Brad grins. He changes the subject, though, for Nate's sake.

"What did we do during the winter? Doesn't it get a little cold in Maryland during the winter?"

"I would smuggle you into our basement. The house has a huge basement with several rooms, and one of them is a sort of storage room with the furnace on the back wall." Nate hums a little when he takes another bite before continuing. "We called it the Reading Room because that's where we would toss all our old books and magazines.

"One time while you were hidden away down there, we had a really bad blizzard and nobody went to school or work for days. I thought I was going to go crazy trying to get food down to you because Dick was supposed to go grocery shopping when the storm hit. So you were stuck reading old _Reader's Digest_ s for three days, living on sardines and ramen noodles."

Brad barks out a laugh, twirling some noodles around his fork. "Sounds salty." He comments, taking a bite. "I look forward to it. Do you cook?"

"I don't think I could claim to know how to cook with a straight face. Dick and Nixon always got mad when I did _anything_ in their kitchen beyond getting myself a soda, and since I've moved out West, I don't have anyone to cook for. Mostly I'm too busy with school, so I just eat here."

"Dick and Nixon?"

"Nixon is our cook." Nate explains. "He's amazing in a kitchen. He's how I'd imagine a child of Aretha Franklin and Julia Child would be. Dick is our grounds keeper and all-around...everything. He's more my parent than...well, my parents. He and Nixon have been together for ages and still are happily in love. They fought in WWII together, and they're practically attached at the hip. I've never seen two people more in love with each other." Nate pauses, and then adds, "Then there was Stella. She's our gardener."

"Wow," Brad says slowly. "You have _servants_. This sounds a little out of my league. Have I ever, um, met any of your family?"

"You met my grandmother once, right before she died. She was the only person I ever actually told about you. She was blind by then, and she knew we were going to get married and she wanted to meet you."

Brad sets his fork down and stares over at Nate with wide eyes. Nate looks back, smiling serenely at him.

"Are we going to get married?" Brad asks, and he really doesn't like where this conversation has gone. Even the _word_ 'marriage' makes him internally shudder.

"I assume so." Nate shrugs, not noticing Brad's sudden discomfort. "You've been telling me for years that whenever you're coming from, you're married to me."

Brad squeezes the bridge of his nose and breathes deep. It's too much. Suddenly, Nate is sliding in next to him in the booth and clutching his hand.

"Sorry! Sorry," Nate says quickly. "I just can't get used to this. It's so opposite, I mean, all my life you've been the one who knew everything and I sort of forgot that tonight maybe _I_ should go slow." He smiles. "Actually, one of the last things you said to me was 'Have mercy, Nate. Please.' You said it in your Quoting Voice, and I guess now that I've just told you that, it means you were quoting me."

He's still holding Brad's hand, but Brad finds he doesn't actually mind.

"Nate?"

"Yes?"

"Could we back up a minute?" Brad asks desperately. "Pretend that this is a normal first date between two normal people?"

"Okay, right, sorry." Nate nods seriously and lets go of Brad's hand and goes back to his side of the table.

"Okay," Brad laughs slightly. "Tell me about yourself, Nate. Hobbies? Pets? Unusual sexual proclivities?"

"Find out for yourself." Nate smirks, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. Brad laughs again, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes Nate's insides squirm.

"Right, let's see, you're in school, right? What are you studying?"

"I'm at Berkley, actually. I'm studying business and government."

"Wow, okay." Brad nods. "So, you're like, freakishly smart."

"Hey, don't be an ass." Nate laughs, tossing his napkin at Brad's face.

"No, seriously! That's great. But, why were you looking for art books in the library? Is that a hobby?"

"No," Nate groans. "I was missing some credits in that... _specific_ area." He sighs. "Art history seemed like the least creative thing I could manage."

"I can see this is a sore subject." Brad jokes. "Tell me about your family."

"Better," Nate approves. "My family lives in Maryland, near the coast. Our house is in an unincorporated area a few miles outside of Baltimore. It originally belonged to my mother's parents. My grandfather died before I was born, and my grandmother stayed with us until she died when I was seventeen. My grandfather was a lawyer, and so was my dad when he came to work for my grandpa."

"And he married the boss's daughter?"

"Yeah, although, sometimes I think he really married the boss's _business_."

"Why do you say that?"

"I'd rather not go into it." Nate sighs. "He passed away a few years ago, and that was that. We weren't really on the best of terms by that point."

"Any siblings?"

"I have a fraternal twin brother named Walt. He's married to a Marine and owns his own bakery a few miles from here, which is where all my baking talent must have gone." Nate laughs. "His husband is something else."

"You seem very fond of your brother." Brad comments.

"He's basically my best friend. We live in a rented suite together with Ray."

"Walt's husband?"

"You got it. Walt and I have basically been through everything together, and, you know, _womb mates_." Nate wiggles his eyebrows and Brad laughs hard, causing Nate to smile at him even brighter than before.

"I always envy people with siblings, even _if_ they don't really get along."

"You're an only child?"

"I thought you knew everything about me." Brad raises an eyebrow.

"I basically know everything and nothing. I know how you look without clothes, but until this afternoon, I didn't even know your last name. I knew you lived in California, but I know nothing about your family except that your parents died when you were four and you were adopted by a different couple who you appreciate, but don't necessarily see as parents. I know you were thinking about the Marines but you couldn't because of, well, you know. I know you speak fluent Swedish and German, but I had no idea you worked in a library. You made it impossible for me to find you in the present. You said it would just happen when it was supposed to. So, now we're here."

Nate shrugs his shoulders.

"There really isn't much to tell." Brad tells him honestly. "I don't remember my parents very well." _Lie._ "And I love my adoptive parents." _Half-truth._ "They gave me everything I could ever need. And I'm only working at the library temporarily. I teach surf lessons usually, but it’s always slow this time of year when people go back home after Christmas."

After Brad has paid the check (much to Nate's external exasperation and internal approval), they begin walking aimlessly down the sidewalk outside.

"Where do you live?" Nate asks.

 _Uh oh_. "About two blocks from here, but my apartment is tiny and a complete mess. I just moved."

"I have a roommate."

"Don't you mean _womb mate_?" Brad and Nate both chuckle. "Okay, if you come to my apartment, you have to close your eyes and count to a thousand. Is there any chance Walt is very uninquisitive or _deaf_?"

"No such luck." Their fingers have intertwined, and Brad isn't sure when that happened. He also isn't sure why it doesn't bother him in the slightest. "I never bring anyone home. Ray would pounce on you and Walt would help him stick bamboo slivers under your fingernails until you told all."

"I long to be tortured by a man named Walt, but I can see that you don't share that particular wish."

"You would be correct."

"Come along, then." Brad says, faux-long suffering. He tugs Nate around the block and up the stairs to his tiny apartment. Before unlocking the door, he undoes his tie and slips it around Nate's eyes.

"Start counting," Brad commands, beginning to rush around and throw away takeout boxes and moving supplies.

"One, two," Nate begins. "Three, four, nineteen, twenty-eight, sixty-three, a hundred and seventeen, two hundred and forty-two, three hundred and sixty-eight-"

Brad has just pushed the last box out of the way when Nate says one thousand and tugs the tie away from his eyes. Brad grins sheepishly at him. They sit down on the sofa and look at each other a moment.

"I've missed you." Nate tells him. "You're so gorgeous, I'd almost forgotten."

Brad wraps a hand around his neck and kisses him. It's almost perfect, a kiss born of familiarity and, dare he say it, _love_. Nate loves him, he'd said so himself. Brad vaguely wonders what exactly they'd been doing in that Meadow.

The kiss deepens, Nate opening his mouth just a little wider to allow Brad's tongue to taste the sweet wine on the inside of his lips. Brad's hands hold tightly to Nate's neck, and it's probably the tamest kiss Brad's ever actually had, even though his heart is pounding fast.

Nate leans away after a moment, only far enough to look into Brad's eyes, and his thumb traces Brad's cheekbone.

"Poor Brad." Nate whispers.

"Why 'Poor Brad'?" He asks. "I don't think I've ever been this happy."

"I just feel bad." Nate replies. "I've been dropping all of these surprises on you like boulders." Nate is straddling Brad's waist, which is becoming distracting.

"Don't move." Brad tells him, his hands sliding up Nate's thighs and to the buckle of his belt. Nate's eyes stay firmly fixed on Brad's, though he slowly begins to grin down at him.

"I'm finding this evening highly entertaining." Nate admits quietly as Brad gently eases the belt open and slides it out of the pant loops. "I mean, knowledge is power, right? I've always been curious about where exactly you live and what you wear and what you do for a living."

"Well," Brad says, unbuttoning Nate's pants and sliding his fingers just underneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. "Nathaniel?"

"Yes?" Nate raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly as Brad's fingers graze his sensitive hip.

"I don't need to know everything now. I mean, shouldn't I experience the anticipation you've had for years?"

"Sorry!" Nate blushes slightly, his hands wrapping even farther around Brad's neck. "It's just, like you said; I've been waiting for _years_. But I can stop, I mean, it won't turn out like cake...one second there, next second gone."

"Have your cake and eat it too." Brad comments wryly, hands moving into the back of Nate's underwear and sliding over his ass. Nate sighs slightly and shifts again, causing Brad to breathe a little heavier.

"That's my motto." Nate whispers, finally leaning forward, their lips brushing just so.

"You get your way a lot, don't you?" Brad asks, his eyes fixed firmly on Nate's pink lips.

"Always." Nate grins wickedly. "I'm horrible, really. Except, you've been mostly resistant to my coaxing ways. I've suffered dreadfully."

"I guess I should take consolation in the fact that my future self will at least have some weapons of subjugation." Brad comments, lips brushing across Nate's cheek and then below his ear. "Do you do this to all the boys?"

"How very _dare_ you." Nate laughs. "I wouldn't dream of doing this with _boys_. God, you're so _young_."

And Brad lunges forward, their lips colliding again, his hands squeezing tightly around Nate's ass. Nate moans into Brad's mouth and they shift backwards on the couch, Nate landing heavily on top of Brad.

Brad doesn't know everything the way Nate does, but he does know one thing; Nate is a fantastic partner.

 

When Nate blinks awake again, he doesn't know where he is. The ceiling is cream colored and peeling, not at all like his and Walt's apartment. There is the sound of downtown traffic coming from a window behind him, sunlight streaming through. He can see a bookshelf from where he’s lying, and he can see his dress shirt tossed over the back of an armchair.

Last night floods back to him and he turns around on the bed. Brad is lying on his stomach, one arm tucked beneath his pillow and the other thrown casually over Nate's waist. His face is turned towards Nate. He's so young like this; Nate never thought he'd see him this way.

He slips out of bed quietly, and looks around the bedroom. After the first round of sex on the couch, they'd kissed their way into Brad's bedroom around one in the morning for a second go. He glances at Brad with a small smile before slipping into the hallway and walking towards the bathroom.

The bathroom is small, like the rest of Brad's apartment. There are two toothbrushes on the counter, and when Nate opens the medicine cabinet, there are two razors and two deodorants, one female and one male.

Nate stares down at the female razor and feels slightly sick before he can really process. He finally closes the cabinet and stares at his reflection in the mirror. _It doesn't matter_ , he tells himself sternly. _Whoever she is, you're here now. She is his past, you're his future._

He goes back to the bedroom and sees Brad is still asleep. He's moved over on the bed into where Nate had been sleeping, and he frowns slightly in his sleep. Nate grabs his boxers off the floor and pulls them on before pulling Brad's dress shirt from last night over his head. He pads into the kitchen and finds the coffee grounds, setting the pot on the stove to heat up.

Walking into the small living room, Nate takes a closer look at the books scattered on the floor. This is the Brad he'd known as a child. _Elegies and Songs and Sonnets_ , _the Annotated Alice_ , _Wisconsin Death Trip_ , _Hypothermia, Frostbite and Other Cold Injuries._

"Hey,"

Nate jumps as he turns around to see Brad leaning against the door frame of the living room. He's not wearing anything, and Nate looks him over for a moment. When he looks back at his face, Brad is wearing a wide smirk.

"You look cold." Brad comments. "Come back to bed."

"I'm making coffee." Nate replies, pointing towards the kitchen.

"I can smell it." Brad nods, not moving. "But first, come and say good morning."

Nate smiles and walks over to him, going up slightly on his tip-toes and kissing him. He stops, however, when he remembers the girl.

"What's her name?" Nate asks quietly. At first, Brad seems confused before he nods in resignation.

"Julia," Brad tells him truthfully. "Does it bother you?" Nate hesitates and Brad rushes to speak. "It does, of _course_ it does. It's ended, though. I mean, as of a few days ago. I just haven’t cleaned out her stuff yet."

"What happened?" Nate can't decide if he's jealous or relieved.

"She was cheating on me. With my best friend. Well, _former_ best friend, I suppose."

"Oh," Nate wants to say more, but he doesn't know what. Brad shrugs and smiles again.

"Just bad timing. Or, good timing, I guess." Brad sighs and grabs Nate's hand. "Am I so different? Different than you expected?"

"You're..." Nate wonders how to phrase it. This Brad is sort of a mess, but Nate knows he couldn't love anyone else. Not now. "You're young."

Brad quirks an eyebrow. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Different." Nate tugs Brad into the small kitchen and sits him in a chair, climbing into his lap. "Have you seen yourself before? When you're in your forties?"

"A few times." Brad nods. "I look spindled and mutilated."

"You do _not_!" Nate laughs. "You're just less...I mean you're...you _know_ me."

"So, right now, I'm just sort of... _here_?"

"It's just that I've had all these experiences with you." Nate tells him slowly. "I'm not used to being the one who knows what will happen rather than the other way around."

"I'm sorry." Brad says, sounding sincere and humble. "The person you know doesn't exist yet. Sooner or later, though, he's bound to appear. That's really the best I can promise you."

"I know he'll show up eventually." Nate smiles. "I'm assured of this."

"It's very peaceful here with you." Brad comments as the kettle on the stove starts to whistle. Nate climbs off his lap to pour them both a cup.

"Brad?"

"Yeah?"

"How come you never told yourself about me?" Nate brings their mugs over to the table and sits in his own chair.

"I don't do that." Brad says, taking a sip of his coffee. Nate frowns.

"Don't do what?"

"I don't usually tell myself things ahead of time unless it's huge or life-threatening. I try to live my life as normal as I possibly can. I don't even like to drop in on myself, I mean, I don't really like having myself around. I avoid it unless absolutely necessary."

"I think I'd tell myself everything."

"No, you wouldn't." Brad shakes his head. "It makes more trouble than it's worth."

"I always tried to get you to tell me things." Nate says, warming his hands with his mug. Brad is still naked, but looks like he's completely at ease.

"Did I ever cave?"

"Sometimes." Nate nods. "When you felt like it, or you had to."

"Like what?"

"See, you _do_ want to know." Nate teases. "But I'm not telling."

"I suppose I deserve that." Brad laughs. "I'm hungry. Breakfast?"

"Yes, please." Nate smiles.

"There's a great breakfast bar a few blocks down. Shower first?"

"Is it big enough for two?" Nate asks with a devilish grin.

"Let's find out."

 

_Saturday, January 2, 1990/ Sunday, August 25, 1975 (Brad is 20 and 5)_

New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, and the day after that. Brad stumbles into his apartment, stuck somewhere between still drunk and way hungover. He's clumsy getting his key into the lock, but eventually he does it.

He feels it coming before he even gets the door closed; he's struck by that horrible and all too familiar feeling of dizziness and nausea that comes just before-

He drops onto a cold, marble floor and groans. He's managed to knock his head against the stone and he lays there for a moment, taking stock of any and all injuries he may have sustained. Other than a possible concussion, he thinks he's intact. Except, of course, he's fucking naked.

He turns and nearly jumps out of his own skin at a tiger glaring down at him with a caveman holding a spear pointed at his chest. Brad rolls away quickly thinking, _Dear Lord, I've traveled to the Stone Age._

But there's a glowing red EXIT sign just past the caveman's head and Brad slowly sighs in relief. Not the Stone Age, then. He pushes himself off the cold floor and slowly opens the door.

The next room is filled with more glass cases filled with different species of bugs. He realizes then that he's in the Field Museum. He takes a deep breath, trying to remember why this feels so familiar. It hits him finally that it's his fifth birthday. Someone was there, the first time he traveled. Someone - he realizes that he is that someone.

Clothes first, though. He follows a hallway and a staircase down to the second floor and finds the gift shop. He's done this enough times to know how to pick a lock. He swings the door open and finds a pair of sweat pants and a sweatshirt. No shoes, but he supposes he doesn't really need them. A brief moment of hesitation, and then he grabs a smaller T-shirt and some dinosaur shorts.

He steps out of the gift shop and tries to remember _where was I when I saw me?_ He's finally hit the hungover stage and he wobbles slightly, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. _Front doors_ , he tells himself, heading down another staircase to the Main Entrance.

It's extremely quiet in the museum, and Brad peers into the Great Hall, seeing no one and hearing nothing. Slowly, he calls, "Brad."

No response. _Good boy,_ he thinks. _Glad I was taught well._ He tries again. "It's okay, Brad. I'm here to be your guide, to show you around. It's a special tour, so no need to be scared.

He hears a faint noise and smiles to himself.

"I brought you a shirt and some shorts, Brad." He says. "I didn't want you to be cold while we're looking at the exhibits."

A small figure appears in the very dim lighting of the Great Hall. He knows he shouldn't step closer to the figure, so he tosses the clothes to him. After another minute of hesitation, he watches the small figure pull on the T-shirt and shorts and steps closer for Brad to really see him.

Even at five he had long limbs and a lean build. His spiky blond hair and blue eyes are both very pale, his skin littered with bruises from climbing trees and riding bikes. Brad remembers it was his first birthday without his real parents. Jennifer and Todd had invited all his old friends to come, he'd had fun. He'd almost forgotten that...well.

"Hello." Brad kneels down to look him straight in the eyes. "I'm glad to see you, Brad. Thanks for coming."

"Where am I?" His voice is small, scared. "Who are you?"

"You're at the Field Museum. I was sent to show you some things you can't see during the day. My name is Brad, too. Isn't that funny?" Brad tries to seem friendly. He knows he's a big, scary looking guy generally, the way he prefers it.

"I guess." Small Brad shrugs.

"What would you like to see first?"

Small Brad just shakes his head.

"Tell you what, let's go up to the third floor and we'll see some of the stuff they don't usually put on display."

"Okay." Small Brad says quietly. Brad takes his hand and leads him up the staircase.

"Where's my - Jennifer?" Small Brad asks him as they finally get to the third floor.

"At home." Brad tells him. "Probably sleeping. This is a special tour, only for you, for your birthday. Besides, grown-ups don't do this sort of thing usually."

"Aren't you a grown-up?"

"I'm an extremely _unusual_ grown-up. My job is to have adventures, so naturally, when I heard you were coming to the Museum, I jumped at the chance to show you around."

"How did I get here?" Small Brad stops, frowning up at him and refusing to budge.

"That's a secret." Brad tells him. "If I tell you, you have to swear not to tell anyone."

"Why?"

"No one would believe you. You can tell Jennifer or Todd, if you want, but that's it. Okay?"

"Okay..." he looks dubious. Brad kneels back down to his level.

"Cross your heart and hope to die?" He feels childish, but he remembers how scared he'd been.

"Okay."

"Okay. Here's how it is: you can time travel, Brad. You were in your bedroom and all of a sudden, _poof_! You're here. It's a little earlier in the evening, so we have plenty of time to look at everything before you have to go home." He pauses. "Does that make sense?"

"But...why?" Small Brad still doesn't look convinced, or any less scared.

"I haven't really figured that out yet." Brad tells him honestly. Even at five, he'd been good at identifying liars. "I'll let you know when I do. In the meantime, we should be moving along."

Down the corridor, he picks the lock on a random door and pushes it open. He flicks on the lights to find several different sized rocks, whole and halved, streaked with veins of metal inside.

"Look, Brad. Meteorites,"

"What's meterites?" Small Brad asks, peering at the rocks.

"Rocks that fall from outer space." Brad explains. Small Brad seems unimpressed. "Let's try a different door."

The next is filled with tiny gold and black birds. Small Brad looks excited. Brad had forgotten his old love of birds. Goldfinches in particular.

"Are they sleeping?"

"More or less." Small Brad looks up at him sharply, distrust evident in his pale eyes.

"How about we try the library?" Small Brad shrugs and follows him towards the other end of the building. Inside the library, he begins telling Brad about Jennifer and Todd and how they seem nice enough but he misses his parents. He talks about his friend George Luz, who Brad himself vaguely remembers, and how he's the funniest guy he's ever met.

Brad is nodding along when suddenly Small Brad makes a startled sound and falls forward. Brad grabs for him, but the only thing he catches is a discarded shirt as Small Brad disappears. Brad sighs, throws the warm T-shirt and dinosaur shorts onto the library desk and walks out. He spends about an hour in the mummy exhibit before he finally falls back onto his apartment's wooden floor.

Brad knows that Small Brad wound up back in his room, where he climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep. The next morning, he told Jennifer about his dream and she laughed, saying that time traveling would be a lot of fun.

It was the first time.

 

_Tuesday, September 23, 1984 (Nate is 6, Brad is 36)_

Brad drops into the trees in a graceless heap of limbs. He stands and brushes off some dead leaves. There aren't any clothes waiting for him and he sighs, thanking the universe for it not being the dead of winter.

He reckons it's probably early September, but of course, the year is unidentifiable. He steps just slightly out of the tree line and into the Meadow. The fact that there aren't clothes hidden under the same bush they've always been means that Nate wasn't expecting him. This means he and Nate haven't actually met yet.

While this makes Brad rather tired, he wonders if he's come before Nate is even born. It's happened before and it's a pain in the ass. He's kind of hungry, too. Traveling always makes him famished, and many times Nate has a sandwich or crackers or something ready for him to devour.

He's startled out of his thoughts when he hears something moving at the other end of the Meadow. He steps back into the tree line and waits, having just moved in time for Nate to come hurdling out of the trees and through the grass. He's so small, bright and happy, with brown hair flopping into his eyes and a thoughtful youthfulness to his running body.

He's oblivious to the eyes in the trees, watching him closely. He's still wearing his school uniform; a blue dress shirt under a black blazer, khaki pants and black tennis shoes. He carries with him a backpack which he plops onto the grass in the middle of the clearing and begins pulling things out of it in a hurry.

He lays out a beach towel and a notebook and crayons and a book that is far too large for such a young boy to be reading. He sits crisscrossed on the towel and immediately opens the book. Brad can barely make out the title: _For Whom the Bell Tolls_ by Earnest Hemingway. Brad raises an eyebrow. He really shouldn't be surprised. Nate had always been a bright child.

Brad isn't sure what he should do. Nate looks so content and happy, leaning against his backpack and staring intently down at his book. He supposes Nate must be around six years old; that's how old Nate said he was when they first met. Brad just isn't sure if this is it. Maybe he should remain silent; maybe he should go somewhere else.

He realizes that Nate has set his book aside and is staring intently where Brad is hidden behind a large shrub. Brad realizes he's been unconsciously humming to himself.

"Who's there?" Nate demands, and that voice is so familiar that Brad wants to laugh. Nate looks pissed as hell, though. Brad decides to pull something out of the Ray Person hand book (though he'll never tell that whiskey tango fuck).

"Greetings, Earthling!" He shouts, grinning despite himself.

"Walt!" Nate shouts, even angrier now. Brad tries hard not to laugh. "You asshole!" He suddenly rips his shoe off and chucks it. He can't see Brad, but he still manages to hit him straight in the face. Brad’s lip begins to bleed and he sighs.

"Please don't do that." He pleads.

"Who are you?" Nate demands. He stands up and hugs his arms around himself, starting to look scared. Brad starts to feel bad, knowing that Nate doesn't usually scare easily.

"My name is Brad." He finally says. "I won't hurt you, Nate. I wish you wouldn't throw anything else at me."

"Give me back my shoe! I don't know you and why are you hiding in the bushes?" Nate demands. Brad tosses his shoe back towards him. Nate picks it up and holds it in front of him like a weapon.

"I'm hiding because I lost my clothes and I'm embarrassed." Brad tells him. "I came a long way and I'm a bit hungry and I don't know anybody and now I'm bleeding."

"Where did you come from?" Nate can't help asking. Then he frowns. "How do you know my name?"

Brad decides that since this seems to be their first meeting, he should probably be honest or else Nate will beat him when he gets back. "I'm a time traveler. I came from the future, and you and I are friends there."

"Time traveling only happens in movies." Nate tells him.

"That's what we want you to believe."

"Why?"

"If everyone time traveled, it would get very crowded. Like when you went to see your Grandma Fick last Christmas and you had to go through the O'Hare Airport and it was really crowded. We time travelers don't want to mess things up for ourselves, so we keep quiet."

Brad honestly doesn't know if that's even true. He's never met another time traveler.

"Come out." Nate says after a moment.

"Can you loan me your beach towel? Again, I'm a little naked back here."

Nate hesitates a moment before picking the towel up, his crayons flying everywhere. He throws it to Brad, who tugs the orange thing around his waist before walking into the clearing. Nate stares at him. Brad can understand why; he's basically a foot taller than most normal human beings. Nate's arms are still wrapped around himself.

"You're bleeding." He says.

"Well, yeah, you kind of threw a shoe at my face."

"Oh." Nate doesn't say anything else. He bites his lip and just continues to stare. He finally says, "You're making fun of me." Brad sighs, trying to look as nice as possible. He knows that Nate's childhood wasn't filled with many nice people.

"I would _never_ make fun of you." Brad promises. "Why do you think I'm making fun of you?"

"Nobody actually time travels." Nate says, sounding a bit pompous. "You're lying."

"Santa time travels."

"What?" Nate frowns deeper.

"Sure." Brad nods quickly. "How do you think he's able to get to all those houses in one night? He just turns back the clock a few hours until he gets down every single one of those chimneys."

"But Santa is magic." Nate retorts. " _You're_ not Santa."

"Meaning I'm not magical?" Brad puts his hand to his chest, mock-hurt. "Geez, Louise, you're a tough customer."

"My name is Nate, not Louise."

"I know." Brad laughs. "You're Nate. Nathaniel Charles Fick, born September 30, 1978. Your parents are Jane and Nathaniel Crow Fick, and you live with them and your grandmother and your twin brother, Walt in that big house up there."

"Just because you know things doesn't mean you're from the future."

"If you hang around long enough, you can watch me disappear." Brad winks at him and Nate tilts his head a little bit, assessing. Brad has seen that tactical look many times, but it's absolutely adorable on Nate's boyish face.

"Do you know Santa?" Nate finally asks. Brad smiles widely.

"Personally? Um, no." His lip finally stops bleeding. "Nate? Do you happen to have a Band-Aid? Or some food? Time traveling really does make me hungry."

Nate stares a moment longer before reaching for his backpack and producing a Hershey's bar.

"Thanks!" Brad exclaims, grabbing for the candy bar. "I love these" He eats it fast, knowing his blood sugar is really low which is never a good thing when it comes to travelling.

"You eat like a dog."

"I do _not_. I have opposable thumbs, thank you very much." Brad tells him with a scowl.

"Posable thumbs?" Nate's frown is fucking _precious_.

"Do this," Brad puts his thumb up in an 'okay' sign. Nate follows. "Opposable thumbs mean you can do that. It means you can open jars and tie your shoes and other things animals can't do."

"Sister Carmelita says animals don't have souls." Nate tells him, suddenly looking sad.

"Of _course_ animals have souls!" Brad doesn't actually know if that's true or not, but to this day he hates Nate's sad face. "Where did she get that idea?"

"She said the Pope says."

"The Pope's an old meanie. Animals have much nicer souls than we do. They never tell lies or hurt innocent people on purpose."

"They eat each other." Nate points out.

"Well, they can't exactly go to Dairy Queen, right? They can't go in and order a chocolate/vanilla twist cone with sprinkles." This is Nate's favorite treat as a child. Now, he loves the chocolate mousse pudding with vanilla base from Dayside on Sixteenth Avenue.

"They could eat grass."

"So could we, but we don't. We eat hamburgers."

Nate thinks this over a moment. "Dick says I shouldn't talk to strangers.

"That's probably good advice." Brad nods.

"When are you going to disappear?"

"When I'm good and ready." Brad replies snarkily. Nate giggles. "Are you bored with me?"

"No." He shakes his head. Brad looks down at the notebook that had fallen into the grass when he gave Brad his towel.

"What are you working on at school?"

"Cursive letters." Nate sighs.

"Can I see?"

"No, I'm not very good." Nate says, closing the notebook with his foot and going back to staring Brad down. "Why don't you have clothes?"

"I'm not allowed to take anything with me when I time travel."

"Why?" Brad never knew kids asked so many questions. He's now extremely worried about a child raised by Walt and Ray.

"Well, think about it. If we time travelers could move things around in time, soon the world would become a mess. Like, if I brought money from the future into the past, I could look up the winning lottery numbers and football scores and make a lot of money. That isn't fair, is it? Or what if I was really dishonest and I stole things and brought them to the future?"

"You could be a pirate!" Nate suddenly exclaims, totally forgetting the whole Stranger Danger topic. "You could bury the money in the past and dig it up in the future."

Oddly enough, this is pretty much how Brad and Nate save their money in the future. As an adult, Nate finds this more and more immoral the more they do it, but now Brad can say that technically, it was _his_ own idea.

"Good idea." Brad nods. "But what I really need isn't _money_. It's _clothes_."

Nate seems perplexed by this.

"Does your dad have any clothes he doesn’t' need? Like pants or a sweater? I mean, I love the towel, but..."

"I don't know if dad's clothes will fit you. Dick's might, but I don't..."

"That's okay." Brad smiles reassuringly at him. "You don't need to get them right now. But if you bring some next time I come, it would be very nice."

"Next time?" Nate frowns. Brad picks up a crayon and on the notebook writes: THURSDAY SEPT 29, 1984 AFTER SUPPER. Brad's vision is starting to blur, he'll be gone soon.

"This is important, Nate." He says urgently. "We need to keep this a secret."

"Why?"

"Can't tell, I have to go now." Brad reaches his hand out and Nate cautiously takes it. "It was nice to meet you. Don't take any wooden nickels." They shake hands and Brad is gone.

 

_Tuesday, October 2, 2005 (Nate is 28, Brad is 36)_

Nate is rudely awakened by a hard body smacking into him. He jolts awake and sees Brad laughing, naked and covered in dirt, his lip bleeding. Nate reaches over and thumbs at the bleeding flesh, frowning.

"What happened?" He asks, still groggy.

"You threw a shoe at me." Brad comments. Nate's frown deepens. He's pretty sure he's never thrown _anything_ at Brad.

"I did not."

"You did." Brad grins lazily, stretching out on their bed, naked as the day he was born. "We just met for the first time and as soon as you laid eyes on me you said, 'That's the man I'm going to marry' and you pasted me one."

Nate scowls at him, but it breaks in a matter of five seconds when he can't help laughing.

"Is that so?" He asks.

"Oh, yes. I always said you were an excellent judge of character."

 


	2. All We Seek Is Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of the story, gay marriage was legalized a lot sooner than it is in real life (Side Note: Yay! USA is now full-gay!)

 

_Thursday, September 29, 1984 (Nate is 6, Brad is 36)_

The calendar in Nate's room reads the same as the date on the sheet of paper he'd received from the naked man in the woods. It's early morning, though, and the man had written that he'd be back after supper.

Downstairs, he can hear Nixon mixing something together in the kitchen. The sound is drowned out as Daddy is downstairs shouting something at Walt. Nate sighs. Daddy has been yelling a lot lately. Nate listens closely and understands that Walt spilt his juice on a piece of Daddy's 'very important' work papers.

Nate hops down the stairs two at a time and bypasses the kitchen, finding Stella out in the garden. She waves to him with a shy smile and continues clipping the roses. Nate smiles back and then enters the garage where Dick is waxing Daddy's town car.

"Well, hello, Mister Fick." Dick bows to him with a crooked smile, his red hair blazing in the morning light. Nate giggles.

"Dick, do you have any play clothes from the old trunks in the attic?" Nate asks him. Dick considers this for a moment.

"I suppose there might be." He replies. "What for?"

"Walt and I wanted to play outside later." Nate hesitates; he's awful at lying. "We want to play Cops and Robbers."

Dick laughs. "I'll see what I can scrounge up for you. Go back inside, now. Nix probably has breakfast ready and you have school."

That night, Daddy and Mama go out to some party, even though Mama was complaining of a headache. Daddy had only said, _Jane, we're going. I've already told the Hendrix's that we're going, so we're going. Now go get dressed. I don't have time for this._

"Nathaniel!" Dick calls up the stairs, and Nate runs downstairs to see him holding an old Goodwill bag. "I found you some clothes from the attic."

Nate grabs the bag and peers inside. There are two pairs of Daddy’s dress pants and a pair of Dick's own old pants, a white shirt, a tie with fishes on it, and there's also red sweater, an old bathrobe, and a pair of old loafers.

"Thanks, Dick!" Nate grins and hugs Dick, who smiles heartily and claps him on the back. Nate opens the door to go out to the Meadow, vaguely hearing Dick calling after him: _Come back before it's dark!_

The Meadow is empty and silent. He plays around for a little bit with the clothes, but eventually gets bored and decides that the man wasn't coming after all and that he didn't want any pants. He decides maybe he dreamt the whole thing, which makes him think of how Mama always says: _Dreams are different than real life, but important, too._

It was starting to get cold so Nate tugs his school sweater tighter around himself and begins to walk back towards the house when he hears a _thump_ and someone say,

_"Fuck! Ouch! Damn it!"_

 

Brad slams into a rock and groans. He's scraped his knee up pretty bad, and his elbow hurts. He looks around. The clearing is empty, but there's a Goodwill bag sitting near him, so he supposes this must be one of the first times meeting Nate.

Inside the bag are a few old friends; the red Harvard sweater, Dick's dress pants, the loafers, and the bathrobe. The fish tie is strange, he doesn't remember it at all, but he supposes he can't always remember everything.

He believes Nate might still be there, so he calls quietly, "Thanks, Nate! You did a great job."

A shadow moves out of the tree line and Nate steps into the clearing, looking a small and scared, also a bit cold.

"Hi," he says softly and Brad's smile softens.

"Hello, Nate. Thanks for the clothes, they're perfect. They'll keep me nice and warm tonight."

"Dick says I have to go back soon." Nate tells him.

"That's alright, it's getting kind of dark. Is it a school night?"

"Yeah," Nate nods slowly.

"What's the date, do you know?"

"Thursday, September 29, 1984. You wrote it down for me last time."

"Right, thanks." Brad nods encouragingly, sitting down in the grass once he's pulled on the clothes. "That's very helpful, Nate."

"Why don't you know the date?" Nate asks, taking a hesitant step closer to him.

"Well, I just got here." Brad informs him. "A few minutes ago, it was Monday, May 18, 2005. It was starting to rain and I was making coffee."

"But you wrote it down for me." Nate repeats with a frown, producing a piece of notebook paper and showing him. Brad recognizes his own handwriting and tries to find a way to best explain.

"It's kind of like this." Brad begins as Nate sits down next to him in the grass. The sun is beginning to set. "You know how to use a tape recorder?"

"Yes." Nate nods.

"So, you put the tape in and play it from the beginning to the end, right?"

"Yeah..."

"That's how your life goes. You get up in the morning, you eat breakfast, and you brush your teeth, right? You don't get up and then suddenly you're eating lunch at school with Mike and Walt, and then you're at home brushing your teeth, right?"

"Right." Nate laughs shyly.

"Now for me, it's different, because I time travel. I jump around a lot from one time to another. So, it's like if you started a tape recorder and played it for a little while, but then you suddenly rewind it to hear a certain part again and then go back where you left off only to end up farther than you were before. You see?"

"I think so." Nate has his Concentration Face on, which Brad finds unbelievably endearing.

"It's not the best analogy, but the basics are that sometimes I get lost in time and don't know where I am."

"What's an analogy?"

"It's when you try to explain something by comparing it with something else. For example, at the moment I'm as snug as a bug in a rug in this sweater, and you are as lovely as a picture, and Dick is going to be mad as a hatter if you're not back soon."

"Are you going to sleep here?" Nate asks him. "You could come to our house and sleep in the guest room."

"That's very kind of you, Nate. But unfortunately, I'm not allowed to meet your family until 1996."

Nate looks utterly confused by this, but Brad assumes it's because most children can't see far enough ahead into the 90s when it's the earlier 80s. Brad used to have the same problem.

"Why not?" He demands.

"Rules," Brad shrugs in a What-Can-You-Do sort of way. "People who time travel aren't supposed to go around talking to regular people while they visit their times, because we might mess things up." Brad isn't sure if that's quite true, but he's not willing to take the risk.

"But you talk to me." Nate is frowning again.

"You're special." Brad notes the small blush this comment creates on Nate's small cheeks. "You're also brave and smart and good at keeping secrets."

Nate's face is bright red, but he looks pleased. "I told Mike." He admits slowly. "But he doesn't believe me."

"Don't worry about it." Brad assures him. "Few people ever believe me, either. Especially doctors. They need proof."

"I believe you." Nate tells him seriously. He looks fierce and determined and _god_ , Brad can't wait to go back to his time and tell him how much he loves him.

"Thank you, Nate."

"I have to go, now."

"Good idea."

"Are you coming back?" Nate asks, almost embarrassed. Brad consults the list of dates he's long since memorized for this.

"October 16," he finally says. "That's on a Friday. Come here, right after school, and bring your notebook and a pen. Don't forget, October 16."

"Okay." Nate nods firmly and Brad smiles. He turns and takes off through the trees, Brad watching him go. He then picks up the Goodwill bag and starts walking until he finds a small diner and tosses the leftover clothes he never wears into the dumpster.

 

_Saturday, June 11, 1979 (Brad is 9 and 20)_

Brad and Younger Brad are standing on the sidewalk across from the California Art Institute on a sunny day in June. Young Brad was traveling from two weeks in the future, Present Brad travelling from 1990.

This is Younger Brad's first lesson in pickpocketing.

"Can't we just go look at the art." Younger Brad demands. He's nervous, having never done this before.

"No, you need to know this." Brad shakes his head. "How will you survive if you can't steal anything?"

"Beg?"

"Begging is a drag, and you'll keep getting carted off by the police. No, just listen, okay? When we get in there, I want you to stay away from me and pretend we don't know each other, but stay close enough to see what I'm doing. Oh, and if I hand you something, do _not_ drop it. Slide it in your pocket as fast as you can. Okay?"

"I guess." Younger Brad sighs. "Can we go see St. George?"

"Sure," Brad shrugs and they walk across the street through groups of students and housewives. Younger Brad pats a small elephant statue as they pass.

Brad is conflicted about this lesson. On the one hand, the skills he's teaching himself are vital to his own survival. On the other hand, learning how to shoplift, pick locks, beat people up, climb trees, drive, break and enter, dumpster dive, and how to use random objects like lamps and garbage can lids as weapons are all corrupting his younger self.

Somebody has to do it. Might as well be himself.

The Institute is swarming with people, it being a Saturday and all. The line slowly moves through the entrance and works its way backwards from seventeenth-century Netherlands to fifteenth-century Spain. St. George is poised and ready to transfix his dragon with his spear while a princess waits nearby. Brad and Younger Brad both love the dragon wholeheartedly and are always happy the dragon's end has not yet arrived.

"It's not hard." Brad murmurs softly to his younger self. "You just need to pay attention. Look for someone who is distracted and figure out where their wallet is. Most men use either their back pocket or the inside pocket of their suit jacket. With women, you want the purse behind their back.

"If you're on the street you can generally just grab the whole purse, but then you have to be sure you can outrun anyone who might then decide to chase you. It's much quieter if you can take it without them noticing." Brad explains.

"I saw a movie once where they practiced with a suit of clothes with little bells and stuff on them and if the guy moved the suit while he took the wallet the bells rang." Younger Brad replies nervously, looking around the Institute and fidgeting.

"Yeah, I saw that movie." Brad nods, standing in a slant away from his younger self so it doesn't appear they're talking to each other. "You can try that at home, but for now, just follow me."

In the nineteenth-century French Impressionism section, Younger Brad's eyes bulge at everything. The Art Institute is infamous for this section, so the section is crowded with people. Brad notices a woman leaning over her toddler as he twists and screams. Brad nods to Younger Brad and then walks towards her. Her purse is a simple clasp and slung half-hazardly over her shoulder. She's so focused on her child that it's almost too easy to bump into her, tipping her forward. He catches her arm before she can get halfway to the floor.

"I'm so sorry!" He says sincerely. "I wasn't looking, are you alright?" His hand finds her purse and she's too flustered to notice his trailing arm. She had dark hair, wide eyes, and large breasts. Her breath smells like peanuts covered by the flavored gum in her mouth. Brad maintains eye contact as he unclasps the bag and pulls her wallet out easily. He slides it up his shirt sleeve and then smiles apologetically before turning to leave.

When he looks over his shoulder, the woman has picked her child up and is staring at him with a sort of hope or wonder. He wonders if maybe he should get her number. But then he remembers, this isn't his time.

Inside the men's bathroom, Younger Brad waits for him. "That was weird." He says. "Why'd she look at you like that?"

"She was lonely." Brad shrugs, feeling bad. "Maybe her husband isn't around much." Inside her wallet he finds out her name is Pamela Archibald and she lives in La Honda, California. She is a member of the Institute and an alumna of the University of San Diego California. She has thirty-one dollars in cash, plus change. Younger Brad looks at the money silently and then Brad hands it to him.

"Give this to a guard and say you found it on the floor."

Younger Brad looks wildly confused. "Why?"

"We don't need it." Brad shrugs. "I was only demonstrating." Younger Brad walks towards a middle-aged black woman in a guard’s uniform who smiles down at him and pats his cheek when he gives her the wallet. He walks back slowly and he and Brad walk through the museum, Younger Brad about six paces behind.

Up ahead, Brad spots another target, a pickpocket's dream. Short, fat, and sunburnt, he has his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a tiny Asian female, possibly a girlfriend. He's lecturing to her loudly about Vincent van Gogh.

"So, he cuts off his ear and gives it to his girl. How would you like that for a present? An _ear_! So, they put him in the loony bin..."

They walk slowly together, the man talking louder than probably necessary. Brad follows and spots the outline of his wallet in the back right pocket of his jeans. While his gut is large, there isn't anything to his backside. He's practically _begging_ to be pickpocketed. Brad doesn't even need to bump him. Just the tip of his thumb and forefinger into the man's back pocket liberates the wallet. Brad drops a few paces back, passes the wallet backwards without looking. Younger Brad slides the wallet into his pocket.

They spend the whole day learning. He teaches Younger Brad how to take a wallet from the inside breast pocket of a suit, how to shield your hand from view while it's inside a woman's purse, six different ways to distract someone while taking their wallet, how to take a wallet out of a backpack, and how to get someone to inadvertently show you where their money is. Younger Brad catches on quick and gradually gets more and more relaxed as the lessons go on.

"Okay," Brad says after a few hours. "Your turn."

He instantly gets tense once more. "I can't."

"Sure you can! Look around and find someone."

The room they're in is full of old Japanese women.

"Not here." Younger Brad mumbles.

"Okay, where?"

"The restaurant at the end of the building."

"Okay," Brad lets him lead the way and Brad lets himself remember this day from the nine-year-old point of view. He was totally terrified. Brad doesn't let it worry him, because he remembers exactly what happens next.

A middle-aged man stands in front of them wearing a beautifully cut suit jacket and it's impossible to see his wallet. Brad watches as Younger Brad steps over to him and shows him a wallet Brad had lifted earlier.

"Excuse me, sir? Is this yours?" Younger Brad asks. The man turns to peer down at him. "It was on the floor."

"Hmm? No, I don't think-" he pats his back pocket and Younger Brad zeroes in on the action. "Perhaps you should take it to security. There's quite a lot of money in there." He leans closer to hear Younger Brad speak. As he speaks to his younger self, Younger Brad reaches around the man's jacket casually and pulls the wallet out. He's wearing a T-shirt, so he passes the wallet back as Brad walks around them, looking away but shoving the wallet up his sleeve.

"So?" Brad asks him as they walk out of the Institute. "What do you think?"

"About what?" Younger Brad asks as they walk.

"Pickpocketing."

"It's okay." Younger Brad shrugs. Eventually, though, he breaks into a grin. "I did it!"

"You were brilliant." Brad nods to him in agreement.

"Yeah!" He pauses, and then his grin fades. "Brad, I hate time travelling by myself. It's always better with you. Can't you always come with me?"

Inside a local diner, they clean up in a bathroom where they look at each other in the mirror. Younger Brad is thin as a strand of hair, shoulder blades sticking out sharply, long limbs hanging like limp wings.

"Look," Brad says as they study their reflections. Same pale eyes, the dark slant and fatigue-rings exactly even. Same buzzed blond hair, same almost-pointed ears. Brad is obviously taller, more muscled, the long limbs are still there, but it suits the rest of his long self. Younger Brad is gangly and uneven, all ragged points and edges.

They have the same scar from the left side of their jaw back just behind their ears from the car accident that took his parents. He and Younger Brad trace the jagged edge.

"How did you get that?" Younger Brad asks him, startled.

"The same as you. It's the same. _We're_ the same."

Brad knows that _he_ doesn't understand at first, and then he does, just like that. Brad now knows the moment the realization hits, seeing your future self for the first time and _knowing_ is a huge deal. Brad remembers the thoughts that had his younger self knowing that his friend, guide, _brother_ was _himself_. Brad. Just Brad. The whole time, just Brad.

"You're me." Younger Brad says.

"When you're older, yeah." Brad nods to him.

"But...what about the others?"

"Other time travelers?"

"Yeah."

"I don't think there _are_ any. I mean, I've never met any others."

Brad watches the tear that falls from the right eye of his younger self. The crash had damaged his left eye, though not noticeably. His vision is slightly distorted, mostly just colors. But he lost the tear duct. He's forever lopsided.

Younger Brad, small as a leaf, thin as fucking water, begins to cry and Brad grabs him, hugs him, holds him, for a long time.

They get chocolate milk shakes back in the restaurant and sit in silence together. As they leave the diner, Brad turns to see Younger Brad fade away. Brad grabs his clothes, knowing he vanished into his adopted parent's living room, sleep-addled beside the door of his bedroom, fell into bed, and fell asleep.

Brad tosses the discarded clothes into a garbage can and keeps walking. He wants to be home, he wants a stiff drink and for Julia's body to rub against his. He wants to go home because he's got nowhere to go now, he's desolate, he’s alone.

And he still doesn't understand the _why_.

 

_Tuesday, December 30, 1985 (Brad is 15 and 15)_

Brad from next March sits on the bed next to the other Brad.

They practice kissing on each other, which sounds both incestuous and very homoerotic, but it really isn't. There's no casual way to put it, because they're just out of puberty but still not in any way ready for what comes next. They both agree that it's kind of a godsend, because they know themselves the best, and therefore aren't worried about correcting the others’ technique. Obviously the Brad from next March is always a little bit further ahead in his form and amount of passion.

December Brad is just glad he doesn't have to face the awkwardness of kissing someone else. He's pretty sure that if everyone could practice kissing with anyone, they'd all choose themselves. Brad is lucky he has that option.

"Brad, I-" the door swings open to reveal Jennifer, who stares in shock at the two of them. She knows, of course. When you live with people, it's hard to come up with excuses as to why you suddenly vanish in the kitchen, your clothes warm and on the floor.

"Jesus," she mutters, quickly closing the door. December Brad whips around and stares at March Brad.

"What the _fuck_! You really have to scare her like that? She doesn't need this on her plate; she's got enough with _one_ of me."

March Brad looks sad, which makes December Brad shut his mouth and wait.

"You knew that was going to happen." December Brad tells him quietly but angrily. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I would if I could, Brad." March Brad says.

"Then why-"

"Listen!" March Brad snaps. "It was like...it's like that day at the ice-skating rink."

December Brad freezes, a tear trickling out of his right eye helplessly.

"Shit," he mutters. Two years earlier, he watched a young girl get hit in the head with a hockey puck at the ice-skating rink and she died two hours later in the hospital. Brad had then started to travel back to that day, again and again. He'd tried to stop it. He'd tried to scream _No, take her home, don't let her near the ice, get her away, she's going to get hurt, she's going to DIE!_

But the screaming was only in his head, and by the time he would realize this, it was too late. There was a crack and the girl goes down and-

"You talk about changing the future, but for me, this is the past." March Brad tells him helplessly. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing I can do about it. I mean, I _tried_ , Brad. I thought about telling you, and I tried and then Jennifer was there by the time I realized that this was the day."

"How could you not have realized?" December Brad demands.

"Because I didn't." March Brad shrugs. "It's like with mom and dad. The accident. _Immer weider_." Always again, always the same.

"Free will?"

"I was just talking about that with ourself from 1992. He said something really interesting, which makes me thing we eventually figure it out. He said he thinks there is only free will when you are in time, in the present. He says in the past, we can only do what we did, and we can only be there if we were there."

"But whenever I am, that's _my_ present." December Brad argues. "Shouldn't I be able to decide-"

"Apparently not." March Brad shakes his head.

"What did he say about the future?"

"Well, think about it this way. You go to the future, you do something, and you come back to the present. Then, the thing you did is part of your past. So that's probably inevitable, too."

"So I'm not responsible for anything I do while I'm not in the present?" December Brad questions.

"Thank god, right?" March Brad smiles crookedly.

"And everything has already happened."

"Sure looks that way. But 1992 self said that you have to _behave_ as though you have free will, as though you are responsible for what you do."

"What does it even _matter_ , though?"

"Apparently, if you don't, things get bad. Depressingly bad."

"Did he know that personally?"

"I think so, yeah." March Brad nods.

"So what happens now?"

"Jennifer avoids you for three weeks and this," he waves around the room. "This stops. We're done, from here on out, okay? You'll come back in March, obviously, but you manage to stop. I think."

"You _think_?"

"I sure as hell hope so." March Brad laughs. December Brad sighs.

"Anything else?"

"Julia Thomas."

Julia has been his friend for a long time, and he's lusted after her for a couple years now. Brad doesn't want to forever ruin their friendship.

"After class tomorrow, go up to her and ask her out." March Brad instructs him.

"I don't know if that's such a good-"

"Trust me." March Brad winks. December Brad is wary, but he knows that he trusts himself, at least, his March self.

"Okay," he replies cautiously.

"I should get going." March Brad says. "Can I get some money?"

"Sure," December Brad grabs a twenty off his computer desk. March Brad raises an eyebrow.

"More."

He hands him a ten off his bedside table and shrugs. "That's all I've got."

"Yeah," March Brad nods. "I know." He looks out the window, then back at December Brad. "Can I get a coat, too?"

"Sure," March Brad digs through his drawers and pulls out a thick sweatshirt. It's soft, but looks utterly terrible. Jennifer wanted him to toss it, anyways. "Here."

"Ah, yes." March Brad nods knowingly. "Jennifer will be so proud."

"When she speaks to me in three weeks."

"Correct," March Brad nods. "Bye!" He opens the window and starts climbing out.

"Good luck," December Brad mumbles. March Brad is already gone.

 

_Friday, May 11, 1990 (Nate is 11, almost 12)_

Mike's parents have allowed the first boy-girl party of Nate's class, and everyone is really excited. Mike has invited his four best friends (Nate, Walt, John Christeson, and Evan Stafford) and three girls (Renee Lemaire, Lena Riggi, and Donna Kriner).

Nate is excited; they're all sleeping over at Mike's house. Of course, the girls will be in the guest room, the boys in Mike's room. Nate was still excited to eat lots of pizza and have Cokes and fruit salad for supper. Then Mike's mom brought out a huge cake shaped like Captain America, Mike's favorite superhero.

The girls all rush to give Mike his presents first. Donna gets him a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure (the one Nate had wanted, but he supposes that Mike will let him play with it sometime), Lena gets him a five hundred piece puzzle of a Captain America comic book scene, and Renee gets him a Batman movie.

Nate feels good about his gift (a Captain America sweatshirt), and Mike seems to like it a lot. Then they all sit and eat more cake while watching the Batman movie. Everyone changes into their pajamas a little later and sets up their sleeping bags, before they all crowd into the living room and begin talking while Mike's parents go to bed along with his older brothers, who the girls apparently think are 'hot'.

Mike has stolen a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps from his parents’ liquor cabinet and everyone takes turns sipping at it. Nate thinks it tastes like Vicks VapoRub, but Renee says that she tried some last year and really likes it, so everyone drinks a little more to be cool like she is.

Donna starts demanding what Lena was doing with Johnny Basilone at the Dairy Queen on Wednesday and she lifts her head up and said it wasn't any of Donna's business. Then, the girls looked like they were going to both start crying and Evan said they should all play with the Ouija board. Mike likes the idea, so everyone sits in a circle and they all listen as Evan explains how the rules work.

(Nate remembers Brad telling him he once went to a séance that ended with the medium's appendix bursting and the ambulance taking her away).

Donna goes first, asking if Johnny Basilone likes Lena. Everyone knows she's going to shove it to _No_ even though everyone also knows that the answer is _Yes_. Sure enough, Donna starts slowly sliding it and Nate isn't sure what comes over him, but he quickly jerks it to the _Yes_ circle. Lena looks inexplicably pleased and Donna looks like she might cry again.

John then asks if he passed his math test and the board spells out _Maybe_. Nate knows it's Evan, because John is awful at math and had a breakdown two months ago after his parents kept pushing him to do better.

Everyone says it's Nate's turn then, but he isn't sure what to ask. _Will Mama be okay? What is Daddy doing with Stella? Is Brad a real person? Where did Walt put my NYC sweatshirt I got from Aunt Hannah?_

"Who likes Nate?" Renee asks giddily, and Nate can feel his face heat up. Slowly, the arrow starts moving. It goes in a circle and then lands on _B_ before sliding to _R_ and then quickly to _A_ and _D_.

"Brad?" Evan stares down at the board in confusion. "Who's Brad?"

"You're blushing, Nate!" Donna laughs. "Who's Brad?"

"I don't know." Nate shrugs. _Lie_.

"Who is Brad?" Mike asks the board then. The needle begins moving again. It goes a lot faster this time. _H-U-S-B-A-N-D_. _Husband? HUSBAND?!_

Everyone is staring at Nate, whose face is on fire. He opens his mouth, closes it, then speaks, "I'm eleven. I'm not _married_."

"Maybe he's _going_ to be your husband!" Donna declares. “Maybe you'll meet him later!"

Everyone moves on, but Nate feels like his brain is going to explode. Husband? _Brad?_

 

_Sunday, April 18, 1991 (Nate is 12, Brad is 36)_

Nate and Brad are playing a game of chess out in the Meadow. It's gorgeous outside, the sun shining, birds singing, and the trees are starting to blossom. Nate stares down at the board intently, and Brad feels his face break into a soft smile. He'd stolen his queen three moves earlier, but Nate is determined to go down fighting.

"Brad?" Nate asks, looking up at him.

"Yes?"

"Who's your favorite from _New Kids on the Block_?"

"Probably Danny." Brad comments, though he doesn't really listen to their music.

"Why?"

"Oh, I dunno. I guess I just do. I guess I'm just not into New Age stuff."

"What's 'New Age'?"

"Like oddball religions, sappy boring music, pathetic attempts to convince oneself of the superiority of anything connected with Indians...Non-Western medicine-"

"I thought you didn't like regular medicine."

"That's because doctors are always trying to tell me I'm _crazy_." Brad sighs. "If I had a broken arm, I would be a _huge_ fan of Western medicine."

"What about Donnie?" Nate asks him.

"Donnie is...I don't know. Kind of for girls."

Nate bites his bottom lip, a distracting thing for Brad. He still does that in the present. "I like Donnie best."

"Well..." Brad isn't sure where to go from there. He either insults Nate further, or he gets too close to... _other_ topics.

"Why do you say Donnie is for girls?" Nate asks, though he only sounds curious, not upset.

"Uh, gee, Donnie is...he's the _nice_ one, I guess."

"What's wrong with being nice?" Nate looks back up at him, brow furrowed.

 _Tread carefully_ , Brad tells himself. "There isn't anything wrong with it. It's just...as an older guy, I'm more interested in being cool and Danny is the cool one."

"Oh," Nate nods slowly. "He's kind of strange looking."

Brad laughs. "You can be strange looking and still look cool. It just means you're at an advanced stage, because you're so cool no one cares that you're strange looking.

Nate nods, though Brad can tell he really doesn't understand. He moves his rook a few spaces and Brad points out that he can checkmate him. He immediately takes back the move.

"Why do you like Donnie?" Brad asks after a lull of silence. Brad looks over at him and sees Nate is blushing.

"He's just..." Nate seems uncertain, something he rarely is. Brad wants desperately to know what's going on in that sweet little head. "He's cute."

Something about the way he says it makes Brad hesitant. It isn't like liking guys is new for Brad, but it is for Nate. He's so young, damn it. Brad looks down at the board and it occurs to him that Nate could checkmate him if he took Brad's bishop with his knight. He decides that if Nate was a little younger, he'd tell him. But twelve means Nate can fend for himself.

Nate is staring down at the board as well, still blushing furiously. It hits Brad then that the strange feeling in his stomach is jealousy. Jesus Christ, he's _jealous_ of a multimillionaire pop star that’s way too old for Nate, anyways. Though, Brad is older than Donnie Wahlberg.

"Hmm," he says.

Nate suddenly looks eager as he looks over at Brad. "Who do _you_ like?"

 _You_ , Brad thinks but doesn't say. "When I was your age?"

"Uh, yeah. When you were my age."

Brad considers a moment. "Well, when I was your age it was 1983. I mean, I'm eight years older than you."

"You're twenty?" Nate asks, brow furrowing once again. Brad feels like he does this a lot whenever Brad visits.

"No, I'm thirty-six." Again, old enough to be his father.

"But, if you're twelve in 1983-"

"Sorry, you're right." Brad sighs. "I mean, I, myself am thirty-six. But somewhere out in the world, I'm twenty. In real time."

Nate blinks at him. "So there are _two_ of you?"

"Not exactly." Brad laughs. "There's always only one of me, but when I'm time travelling sometimes I go somewhere I already am, and yes, then you could say there are two of me. Maybe more."

"How come I never get to see more than one?" Nate says, starting to pout a little. He's so fucking cute it _hurts_.

"You will. When you and I meet in _my_ present, that will happen quite a lot, actually." _Probably more than you'd like._

"You never told me who you liked in 1983." Nate comments.

"I don't think I really liked anyone." Brad shrugs. "At twelve I had other stuff to think about, but when I was thirteen, I had a huge crush on Julia Thomas."

Nate looks pissed at this. "A girl from school?"

"Yeah," Brad nods. "We were pretty good friends in middle school."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you like her?" Nate demands.

"I don't know." Brad shrugs. "I just did, I guess."

"Do you ever think or do things you don't want to do?" Nate asks after yet another halt in conversation. Brad eagerly takes the segue.

"Yeah, all the time." He nods. "I don't always end up safe and sound with you, Nate. A lot of times I go places where I have to get clothes and food by stealing."

"Oh," Nate nods, looking back at the chess board. Suddenly, he grins and knocks over Brad's bishop. "Checkmate!"

"Congrats!" Brad high-fives him. "You are the king of chess."

"I know." Nate's smile is blinding. "Again?"

"Sure," Brad nods, allowing Nate to set the pieces back up again. "You hungry?"

The only food they have left is the remaining dregs of a Dorito bag. Nate nods, and then hums. They go through their opening moves and then Nate begins to stare the board down once again. He's always looking for new ways of seeing things.

"Who do you like now?" He finally asks, looking over at Brad with a glint in his eyes.

"At twenty or thirty-six?"

"Both."

Brad thinks about being twenty for a little bit. He was with Julia then, still. He feels like if he says her name again, though, Nate might get really angry. Or worse, upset.

"Twenty was nothing special." He says. At thirty-six, this is very true. "Nobody important."

"And now? At thirty-six?"

Brad studies Nate. Is twelve too young? Probably. Better to fantasize about someone cute and nice like Donnie Wahlberg. Why is he asking about this, anyway?

"Brad?" Brad realizes he's been silent a long time.

"Yeah?"

"Are you married?"

 _Ah, there it is_. "Yes." Brad admits slowly.

"To who?"

"A very beautiful, patient, talented, and smart person." Brad tells him truthfully. Nate's face falls and he twirls one of Brad's knights around on the ground.

"That's nice." The way he says it, though, makes Brad assume Nate doesn't think it's at all _nice_.

“What's wrong?" Brad asks him.

"Nothing." Nate says quickly, moving his queen to Q2 to KN5. "Check."

Brad moves his knight to protect his king.

"Am _I_ married?" Nate asks. Brad chuckles.

"You're pushing your luck today."

"Why not?" Nate groans. "You never tell me _anything_. Come on, Brad! Tell me if I'm gonna be an old geezer, alone with fifty cats!"

"You're actually a monk." Brad jokes. Nate rolls his eyes.

"Gosh, I sure hope not." Nate takes another one of Brad's pawns with his knight. "How did you meet your wife?"

"Sorry, top secret." Brad replies easily, taking his rook with his queen.

"Gross," Nate glares at his stolen rook. "Were you time travelling when you met her?"

" _I_ was minding my own business." Brad laughs, not correcting the pronoun choice. Nate sighs and takes yet another of Brad's pawns. Brad moves his bishop to KB4.

"It's not fair that you get to know everything about me but you never tell me anything about you."

"True, it _isn't_ fair." Brad nods, trying to look regretful.

"I mean, I tell Mike and Walt everything and they tell _me_ everything!"

"Everything?" Brad raises an eyebrow.

"Well, not about you." Nate sighs again.

"Why's that?"

He's starting to look defensive, meaning Brad should really be careful. "You're a secret. They wouldn't believe me, anyways." He takes Brad's bishop. Brad realizes that his chances of winning this time are not looking good.

"Brad, are you a real person?"

Brad, a bit taken aback, replies, "What else would I be?"

"I don't know." Nate shrugs. "A spirit?"

"I'm really a person, _Nathaniel_." Nate moans sarcastically. He _hates_ his full name, a fact that Brad takes great pleasure in.

"Prove it, then."

"How?"

"I don't know." Nate shrugs again, looking more intent.

"I mean, I don't think that _you_ could prove that _you_ are a real person."

"Sure I can!"

"How?"

"I'm just _like_ a person!" Nate argues.

"Well, I'm just like a person, too." Brad finds this a little interesting. In 2006, he and Eugene Sledge are engaged in the very same philosophical conversation. Eugene is convinced that Brad is some sort of new species of human, whereas Brad informs him again and again that he's just as messed up as any other person and that his genetics match that of any other person. Brad just happens to switch places from time to time.

Nate is a great help on Brad's side of things whenever they invite Sledge over for supper. Eugene tries to get his own husband's support, but Snafu just smirks irritatingly and says that he is not drunk enough for that conversation.

Twelve-year-old Nate regards Brad seriously.

" _People_ don't appear and disappear the way you do. You're like the Cheshire Cat."

"Are you implying I'm a fictional character?" Brad finally spots his move and feels satisfied. Nate can take his bishop, but he'll end up losing his queen. Nate seems to realize this, too. He sticks his tongue out at Brad.

"It makes me wonder about fairytales." Nate tells him after a moment. "I mean, if _you_ are real, then why shouldn't fairytales be real, too?" He pushes himself off the grass and shakes out his legs. "I think the ground is getting harder. My butt's asleep."

Brad chuckles. "Maybe they are real. Or some little thing in them is real and then people just added to it, you know?"

"Maybe Snow White was in a coma." Nate replies.

"Sleeping Beauty, too."

"And Jack and the Beanstalk was just about a really good gardener."

"And Noah was a weird old man with a houseboat and a lot of cats."

Nate stops shaking out his legs and stares down at Brad. "Noah is in the _Bible_." He says. "He's not a fairytale."

"Right," Brad nods slowly. "Sorry." Any minute, Nixon is going to call out for supper and Nate will have to go inside. Nate sits back down on the grass and begins building a small pyramid with Brad's captured chess pieces.

"You still haven't proved you're real." He mumbles.

"Neither have you." Brad shoots back easily.

"Do you wonder if I'm real?" Nate looks over at him in surprise.

"Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe _you're_ dreaming _me_. Maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up, we forget all about each other." Brad comments causing Nate to frown.

"I don't feel like a dream." He tells Brad. "Or a fairytale."

"Maybe God just made us up and He's not telling us." Brad suggests. Nate sighs heavily.

"You shouldn't say things like that. Besides, you don't even believe in God, do you?"

Brad changes the subject. "I'm more real than Donnie Wahlberg."

Nate continues to frown, putting the chess pieces back into the box neatly while Brad watches.

"Lots of people know about Donnie Wahlberg. I'm the only one who knows about you."

"But you've actually met me." Brad points out. "You've never met him."

"Mike's older brother took his girlfriend to a _New Kids on the Block_ concert a few weeks ago." Nate tells him. There's a lull in the conversation, Brad simply watching Nate put each individual piece back into the box.

"Is your wife a time traveler, too?" He suddenly inquires.

"No, thank god." Brad laughs.

"Why 'thank god'? I think that would be fun. You could go places together!"

"Trust me, Nate, one time traveler per family is more than enough. It's dangerous."

"Does she worry about you?"

"Yeah." Brad says softly. He wonders what Nate's doing in 2006. Maybe he's still asleep; maybe he doesn't even know Brad's gone.

"Do you love her?" Small Nate asks.

"Yes." Brad replies. "Very much." They're silent for a long time, just enjoying each other's company. Brad hears a small sniffling sound and glances over to see Nate hastily wiping a few tears off his face. Brad tenses.

"What's wrong, Nate?" He asks urgently. He shakes his head and won't look over at Brad. Brad runs a hand down his back soothingly before wrapping him into a tight hug. "What's wrong?" He asks again.

Nate is quiet for a long moment before he chokes out: "It's just that...I thought you might be married to _me_."

 

_Monday, November 29, 1989 (Brad is 22)_

Brad gets shoved into the back of the police car with excess force, but he doesn't say anything about it. He's in a small town in Zion, Illinois, near where his own family used to live. He's got on a pair of old sweatpants and handcuffs. Nothing else.

The inside of the police car smells like stale cigarettes and body odor. It gives Brad a headache. His left eye is swelling slightly, from where the cop in the driver's seat had punched him when he'd kicked the other guy in the groin. Said cop is standing outside the driver's side door, both men talking to a neighbor who watched Brad break into the small house where he'd found the sweatpants.

Brad has no clue what year it is, but he knows it's fucking cold and he's miserable. He's been here for over an hour, he's hungry, he's tired, and he's supposed to be at work. Ray Griego, his boss whom everyone calls Casey Kasem, is going to have a conipshit when he finds out Brad's late _again_.

At least the cop car is warm.

This isn't the first time he's been arrested by the Chicago PD. It's not the second, third, or fourth time, either. The police station absolutely hates him, because he continually disappears while he's in their custody with no explanation. Also, Brad refuses to say a word, so they don't know who he is or where he's from. The day they find out, though, is the day Brad might very well end up in prison.

Brad has several outstanding warrants: breaking and entering, shoplifting, resisting arrest, _breaking_ arrest, trespassing, _several_ counts of public nudity and indecent exposure, and robbery. Some might suppose he has so many warrants because he's a really shitty criminal. However, the truth is that it's very hard to remain discreet when you're naked.

Sure, Brad is fast and well-muscled and he's in shape, but breaking into a building is hard to do in broad daylight, stark naked, and bleeding. So far, Brad has been arrested eight times, but he's always managed to disappear before they can fingerprint him or take his photo.

The neighbor's kid keeps peering into the back of the police car at him, but Brad honestly couldn't care less. He's been here too long.

The second cop finally climbs into the passenger's seat and the car begins moving. Brad can feel the thrumming behind his eyes get louder and louder and suddenly he's laughing, because here it comes.

"Shit, he's having some kind of fit!" One of the cops shouts and Brad just laughs because suddenly he's on his apartment floor. He's escaped once again, Houdini at his finest.

He turns onto his side and throws up on the kitchen tile.

 

_Wednesday, July 27, 1991 (Nate is 13)_

Walt is leaving for a week with his friends Eugene Jackson and Skinny Sisk. They're going camping somewhere near the ocean, and Nate is going to be alone until next Thursday. Mike is at some summer camp until the end of August and Evan and John are both on family vacations.

Nate sits outside in the Meadow, thinking. In the house, Nixon is cooking Walt's favorite meal as a sort of send-off. Mama and Daddy are leaving after dinner for a work party. Nate will be by himself with Dick and Stella, because Nixon is going to New Jersey for the weekend for a funeral.

Nate can't stop thinking about Brad. He isn't coming today; his next scheduled visit is in twenty-six days. He puzzles Nate, more so recently than ever before. He's Nate's secret, a long-since accepted idea, a sort of fascinating miracle all Nate's own.

Nate misses him.

 

_Sunday, August 23, 1991 (Nate is 13, Brad is 33)_

Brad appears in the Meadow during the early morning, dew still coating the grass and the sun just starting to rise. Under the bush, Brad finds a different pair of clothes he's never seen before. He doesn't know where he is in time. Nate has left him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a water bottle, which Brad gladly devours.

There's no sign of Nate in the Meadow, so Brad assumes it's rather early in the morning. He tugs a grey sweater jacket around himself and grabs a blue towel to lie down on.

When he next blinks awake, Nate is seated next to him on the towel reading a book. He smiles down at him when he notices Brad awake.

"Good morning! Daylight in the swamp, the birds are singing, the frogs are croaking and it's _time to get up!"_ He sings loudly. Brad groans, rubbing tiredly at his face.

"Hello, _Nathaniel_." He bites out. "What's the date?"

"Sunday, August 23, 1991." Nate answers immediately. So, he's thirteen now. Brad understands this is one of the difficult times in his life. Walt is getting new friends, his parents are fighting more and more, Stella had quit, and Dick and Nixon are thinking of moving back to New Jersey. He'll have no one, so he thinks.

"If I ask really nicely, Nate, could you go into the house and smuggle out some coffee for me?" Brad asks him. Nate looks uncertain.

"Coffee?" He says the word like it's something foreign. In 2003, Nate is just as much a caffeine addict as Brad is.

"Pretty please?" He bats his eyelashes and Nate rolls his eyes, standing up and setting his book down gently.

"Fine, I'll try." Brad watches him walk back towards the house. He's barefoot, wearing an old green sweater and jeans that are dragging in the morning dew. Thirteen is the year Nate really started to get tall, his body not yet accustomed to longer limbs and a skinnier body in constant need of food. Brad tries not to think about his body as he watches Nate go. Instead, he looks down at the book Nate is reading. _1984_ by George Orwell. Brad picks it up and begins reading. When Nate comes back into the clearing, Brad is on page twenty-nine.

His hair shines golden in the morning sunlight and he carries with him a thermos, two mugs, and a package of doughnuts.

"Bless you." Brad says as he receives the thermos gratefully. He pours some into a mug and takes a sip. It's incredibly strong. "Whoa! This is rocket fuel, Nate."

"Too strong?" Nate says dully, looking down. Brad hurries to cheer him up.

"No such thing as too strong, but yeah. I like it, though. Did you make it?"

"Yeah." Nate nods. "I've never made coffee before and then Dad came down and started asking me all sorts of questions, so I might have done it wrong."

"It's fine." Brad assures him, draining his mug and pouring some more. He instantly starts to feel better. Nate pours a little for himself and tastes it. He makes a face and sets the mug away from himself.

"That's horrible. Is it supposed to taste like that?"

"A little less ferocious. You like yours with milk and lots of sugar." Brad tells him. Nate bites into a doughnut and hums thoughtfully.

"You're turning me into a freak."

Brad blinks. He isn't sure what to say to that. "I am not. What do you mean, I'm turning you into a freak?"

"You know, like telling me that I like my coffee with milk and lots of sugar before I hardly even taste it. I mean, how am I going to know if it's what I like or if I just like it because you _told_ me that's how I like it?"

Brad frowns. "It's just personal taste, Nate. You should be able to figure out how you like your coffee whether or not I say anything or not. Besides, you're the one who's always bugging me to tell you about the future."

"Knowing the future is different than being told what I like." Nate says.

"Why? It's all got to do with free will."

Nate slips off his shoes and socks and leans back on the towel. "I thought free will had to do with sin."

Brad thinks about this a moment. "No, why should free will be limited to right and wrong? I mean, you just decided, of your own free will, to take off your shoes. It doesn't really matter, nobody cares if you wear them or not, but it's not sinful or virtuous and it doesn't affect the future. Yet, you still exercised your free will."

"But sometimes you tell me something and I feel like the future is already there, you know? Like, my future has happened in the past and I can't do anything about it." Nate shrugs sadly. Brad doesn't like this conversation very much.

"That's called determinism." He tells Nate. "It haunts my dreams."

"Why?" Nate asks, suddenly intrigued.

"Well, if _you_ are feeling boxed in by the idea that your future is unalterable, imagine how _I_ feel. I'm constantly running up against the fact that I can't change anything, even though I'm right there, watching it."

"But you _do_ change things! I mean, you wrote down that stuff that I'm supposed to give you in 1991 about the baby with Down Syndrome. And the List, if I didn't have it, I wouldn't know when to come meet you. You change things all the time!"

"I can only do things that work towards what has already happened." Brad tries to explain. "I can't, for example, undo the fact that you took your shoes off."

Nate laughs. "Why would you care that my shoes are off or not?"

"I don't. But even if I did, it is now an unalterable part of the history of the universe that I can't do anything about." Brad grabs a doughnut and bites into it, his stomach growling greedily.

Nate shifts uncomfortably. "Now you're making me self-conscious. I feel like every time I blow my nose it's a historical event."

"Well," Brad shrugs. "It kind of is."

"What's the opposite of determinism?" Nate questions.

"Chaos."

"Oh, I don't think I like that. Do you like that?"

Brad takes another bite of his doughnut, pondering chaos. "I do and I don't. Chaos is more freedom, in fact, _total_ freedom. But no meaning. I want to act freely, but I also want to _mean_ something."

"You're forgetting about God." Nate points out. "Why can't there be a God who makes it mean something?"

Whenever Nate mentions God, Brad starts to sweat. "I don't know, Nate. I mean, to me things seem too random and meaningless for there to be a God."

"You just said before that everything seems like it's all planned out beforehand!" Nate argues, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, making himself small. Brad reaches out and grabs Nate's ankle, pulling his foot into Brad's lap. Nate laughs and leans back on his elbows.

"Okay," Brad starts. "Let's see. The choices we're working with here are a block universe, where past, present, and future all coexist simultaneously and everything has already happened; chaos, where anything can happen and nothing can be predicted because we can't know all the variables; and a Christian universe where God made everything and it's all here for a purpose but we have free will anyways. Right?"

"I guess." Nate says, playing along.

"Which do you vote for?"

"I don't know." Nate shrugs again. "I _want_ God. Is that okay?" He looks so uncertain that Brad feels like an asshole.

"Of _course_ it's okay. That's what you believe." Brad assures him.

"But I don't want to just _believe_ it. I want it to be true."

"You and St. Thomas Aquinas both," Brad nods seriously, running his thumb along Nate's ankle bone.

"I've heard of him."

"He wanted order and reason and God, too. He lived in the thirteenth century and taught at the University of Paris. Aquinas believed in both Aristotle and angels."

"I love angels." Nate comments happily, closing his eyes and tilting his face up towards the sun. "I wish I had wings and could fly around in the clouds."

"Ein jeder Engel ist schrecklich." Brad murmurs. Nate opens his eyes with a look that says, _English, asshole._

"Every angel is terrifying." Brad repeats in English. "It's a part of a series of poems by a German poet named Rilke. He's one of the few poets we like."

"You're doing it again." Nate laughs.

"Doing what?"

"Telling me what I like." Nate wiggles his toes and for a second, Brad thinks of swinging his feet up to Brad's shoulders. It seems too sexual, though, because Nate is tiny and even though he isn't thinking about it in context of a thirteen-year-old, it doesn't make it less inappropriate.

"Brad?"

"Yes, Nate?" Brad raises an eyebrow.

"You're making me different."

"I know." Brad replies. For a moment, when Brad looks at him, he doesn't see the young boy from long ago. He sees Nate, his husband, superimposed and still. Brad tugs him closer into a half-hug, Nate's back against Brad's chest.

"Nate!" A voice shouts out. It sounds like Walt. Nate startles and sits up straight, away from Brad's warm hold.

"It's time for church." Nate says, turning to look at Brad, unsure.

"Go," Brad smiles. Nate hesitates another beat before he runs out of the clearing towards the house. After another hour, Brad disappears after finishing the last of the coffee.

 


	3. Transcending Into The After

****

_Wednesday, October 2, 1991 (Nate is 13, Brad is 40)_

Nate wakes out of his deep sleep at the sound of someone shouting outside. For a moment, it sounded like his name. After another moment, Nate is sure it was _Brad's_ voice. He slides out of bed and stops, listening to the night's silence.

Without shoes, he descends the stairs and opens the back door. Cool air sweeps through his pajama pants and T-shirt. Two figures appear out of the trees suddenly and Nate realizes it's his father and Nixon. A third figure stands a little bit away from them and after a beat, Nate recognizes Brad.

"Nate?" His father asks, walking towards the back of the house. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I heard my name." Nate replies, confused. Nixon laughs and sends him a sharp smile, one that reads, _Silly child, everything is okay_. Nate focuses on Brad who raises his finger to his lips and shakes his head. Brad turns and goes back into the trees, leaving Nate with his father and Nixon.

"Come on, Nate." Nixon takes his hand and leads him back inside. "Let's get you back to bed, okay? It was just a dream."

As Nixon tugs him back into the warm house, Nate catches sight of Brad's eyes flashing in the darkness. He smiles and waves to Nate, who hesitantly waves back. The door closes behind him and Nate knows that whatever has just happened, it isn't good.

 

_Monday, February 13, 1993 (Nate is 14, Brad is 38)_

When Nate gets home from school, Brad is tucked away nicely into the Reading Room, waiting for him with a magazine in his hands. Nate knocks twice on the door where he knows Brad has a chair under the doorknob, he pauses, and then knocks twice more.

The door swings open at the sound of Nate's special knock and Nate steps into the warm room. Brad is wearing a dark flannel shirt of Nixon's and sweatpants from Nate's father which barely fit him. Nate sets down a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches.

"When are you coming from?" Nate asks him. He'd left the back door unlocked, Brad's journal entry saying he'd be there before Nate got back from school.

"October, 2007."

"You look tired." Nate comments. "What's happening in 2007?"

"Exhausting things," Brad smiles slightly. He takes a bite of the sandwich. "This is good."

"Nix made it."

"I love Nixon. It's a shame I can't just snatch him away from you." He pauses. "Why don't you ever make me food?"

"It's a mental block." Nate says mock-sadly. "A phobia."

"You're strange."

"I walk into that kitchen and I hear a little voice whisper, 'Go away'. So I do."

"You look very thin." Brad comments, looking a little concerned. Nate shrugs.

"I'm eating. Am I very fat 2007? Maybe that's why you think I'm so thin."

Brad chuckles. "You're just fine in 2007."

"I promise I'm not anorexic, if that helps." Nate comments.

"Well, it's just that your mom was always bugging you about it." Brad replies.

"'Was'?"

"Is." Brad shakes his head.

"Why did you say was?" Nate's voice has risen just a little, his eyes searching.

"No reason. Jane is just fine, don't worry."

He's lying.

Brad can't believe he let something like this slip. How could he possibly console a fourteen-year-old Nate about Jane's death? Brad hasn't slept in a while, lots of fighting going on in 2007, that’s the only excuse he can come up with for being so _stupid_.

Nate stares at him, serious and solemn. "Tell me."

"I can't." Brad looks miserable.

"Why not?"

"It's not good to know things ahead. It screws up your life."

"You can't half tell me, Brad. That isn't in any way fair." Nate tells him.

"There's nothing to tell." Brad replies urgently. Nate starts to panic and he can feel his throat starting to close.

"She killed herself." Nate says slowly, knowing it's true.

"No, _no_." Brad shakes his head firmly. "Absolutely not."

Nate can't tell if he's lying, he looks so unhappy. Brad's hand sweeps comfortingly through Nate's downy-soft hair.

"Ovarian cancer," he whispers, because he can _not_ leave Nate with that.

"Thank you." Nate whispers before he begins to cry.

 

_Friday, October 1, 1994 (Nate is 16, Brad is 32)_

The longer it takes for Brad to appear, the more impatient Nate becomes. He's just received his driver's license, and his father had agreed he could drive the mustang to Mike's house party that night, something Jane Fick didn't like.

"You could have asked me!" She was yelling.

"What harm could it do, Jane?"

Nate paces out to the Meadow and waits in the evening light for Brad to show. The weather is getting colder and Nate is just thinking of going back into the house when he hears a twig snap and sure enough, there's Brad.

He looks young, early thirties maybe. He's wearing a dark T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. He smiles hesitantly at Nate when he sees him.

"Kiss." Nate demands and Brad leans down, planting a swift kiss on Nate's lips.

"What was that for?"

"I got my driver's license!" Nate grins. Brad looks slightly alarmed and Nate rolls his eyes. "You're just jealous."

"I am, in fact." Brad nods to him. "I love to drive, but I never do."

"Why not?"

"Take a wild guess."

Nate laughs. "Chicken," he remarks.

"For _other_ people, Nate, it'd be really dangerous. Imagine what would happen if I was driving and I disappeared? The car would continue moving and _kaboom_! A lot of dead people and blood and definitely nothing pretty."

" _Anyways_ ," Nate sighs heavily. "I'm going to a party at Mike's tonight. Want to come?"

Brad hesitates, getting that look like he's about to quote something to Nate, which Nate really isn't interested in right then.

"Nate," he finally says. "That would involve meeting a whole bunch of your friends."

"And?"

"Let's see," Brad says sarcastically. "You're sixteen and I'm thirty-two - only twice your age! I'm sure no one would notice or inform your parents."

"Well," Nate says decidedly, looking more downtrodden. "I have to go. You can just sit in the car and I won't stay very long. Then we can go somewhere else."

Brad reluctantly agrees, which is how he ends up sitting in the car by himself, a block away from Mike's house. He can hear the music just fine, however, some pop song that is repetitive and annoying. Nate had run off with a grin and a 'Stay!' as if Brad were a large, disobedient dog. Brad slumps down in the car and waits.

Nate knows the minute he steps into the house that it's a mistake. Mike's parents are in Manhattan for the week, so he will have time to fix everything before they get back. Nate is glad it isn't his house.

There are boys in wife beaters and girls in short skirts and beer cans are everywhere. As Nate goes to grab a beer for himself, he can hear someone shout, "Check out Mister Look-Don't-Touch Fick!" Nate turns and sees Dave McGraw, the idiot nicknamed Captain America because he apparently thinks he could make it in a warzone, licking his lips obscenely at him. "Nice jeans, Nathaniel!"

"Not for your benefit, _Captain_." Nate tells him. He'd put his best pair of jeans on because he wanted his ass to look good for Brad. He'd seen Brad checking it out as he walked away from the car, so it had been well worth it. Dave stands up, following him into the kitchen.

"That's not a very nice thing to say. After all, I'm just trying to show my appreciation for your extremely _comely_ attire, and all you can do is insult me." He won't stop talking and Nate slips out of the kitchen without him. He finds Walt leaning against the wall, beer in hand. He'd told Nate he was going to someone's house to study.

"Nice to see you, brother." Nate laughs.

"This sucks." Walt comments. Nate nods. "Where's Mike?"

"Dunno," Nate shrugs. But he has this feeling that he's going to find out.

Nate has been gone so long, Brad is getting restless. It's been almost an hour, long enough for him to eat the turkey sandwich Nate had brought for him as well down an entire bottle of water. He naps for a little while, and then decides he really needs to take a leak.

He hears someone coming towards the car and relaxes, turning to look for Nate. It isn't Nate, though. It's Nate's best friend, Mike Wynn. _Fuck_.

He leans down drunkenly to peer at Brad through the window.

"Hello, Nate's mystery boyfriend." Mike greets him with a grin. "I'm Mike."

"Wrong number, Mike. But pleased to meet you regardless." Brad replies. He smells of alcohol.

"Aren't you going to get out of the car and introduce yourself properly?" Mike asks.

"I'm pretty comfortable where I am, thanks."

"Okay," Mike nods then goes around the car and slides into the driver's seat. This is not going well. "I've been wanting to meet you for a long time."

"You have?" Brad frowns, desperate. "Why?" He needs Nate to hurry up and save him.

"I deduced your existence." Mike informs him. "My vast powers of observation have led me to conclude that whatever remains when you have eliminated the impossible, is the truth, no matter how impossible." Brad can't believe he's coherent right now. "Hence, I have come to the conclusion that Nate must have someone because otherwise, he would _not_ be refusing to fuck all these nice boys and girls who are very much distressed about it. And here you are!"

Brad has always liked Mike. He's a good guy and a good friend. Although, this meeting certainly does explain something he said to Brad at his and Nate's wedding. Brad loves it when these small puzzle pieces slip into place.

"That's very good detective skills you have, Mike." Brad responds finally. "But I am not Nate's boyfriend."

"Then why are you sitting in his car?"

Brad grasps for an excuse, knowing Nate is going to _kill_ him. "I'm a friend of his parents. They were worried about him taking the car to a party where there was alcohol and asked me to play chauffeur."

"That's extremely unnecessary." Mike says before burping loudly. "Sorry. Our little Nathaniel hardly drinks enough to fill a tiny, tiny thimble-"

"I never said he did." Brad shrugs. "His parents are just paranoid."

Brad glances at the side mirror to see Nate coming towards the car. He looks startled when he sees that there's someone else in the car with Brad.

"Nate!" Mike exclaims opening the car door and jumping up to look excitedly at his friend over the top of the car. "This naughty man says he is _not_ your boyfriend!"

Nate looks at Brad and then says curtly, "He's not."

"Oh," Mike nods slowly, frowning. "Are you leaving?"

"It's almost midnight. I'm about to turn into a pumpkin." Nate comments, walking over to the driver's side of the car. Mike stares down at him as Nate slides into the car. "Come on, Brad, let's go."

"Not your boyfriend, huh, _Brad?_ " Mike laughs. "You had me going there for a minute! Bye, Nate!" And then he jogs back towards the house. Nate pulls the car away from the curb.

"Better turn on your brights, Nate." Brad comments. Nate reaches forward and turns the headlights completely off.

"Nate!"

"Don't tell me what to do." Nate snaps angrily. Brad closes his mouth and watches the numbers of the clock change from 11:34 to 11:35. They drive in silence for a while before Nate flicks the headlights on again. They're still in the middle of their lane.

"Why did you do that?" Brad asks him quietly.

"Why not?" He is eerily calm.

"Because we could have both died in a fiery wreck."

"But that's not what happens." Nate shakes his head, turning right. "I grow up and meet you and we get married and here you are."

"For all you know, you crashed the car just then and we both spent a year in traction." Brad tells him seriously.

"But then you would have warned me not to do it." Nate retorts.

"I _tried_ , but you yelled at me-"

"I mean, an _older_ you would have told a _younger_ me not to crash the car."

"By then, it would have already happened."

Nate is silent, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard Brad assumes it has to be painful. He lowers his voice a little more, soothing.

"Nate, please pull over, okay?" They're at the beginning of the Fick's driveway. Nate cuts the engine and stares straight ahead. Brad reaches over at grabs his hand, but unlike usually, Nate doesn't immediately link their fingers together.

"Promise me something."

"What?" Nate asks monotonously.

"Promise you won't do anything like that again. I mean, not just with the car, but anything dangerous. Because you never know. The future is really weird and you can't go around behaving like-"

"But if you've seen me in the future-"

"Trust me." Brad cuts him off. "Just _trust_ me."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Nate laughs darkly. Brad hates that sound, hates it so much.

"I don't know." He says truthfully. "Because I love you?"

Nate's fist connects sharply with Brad's jaw. He then swings out of the car and steps into the middle of the driveway. Brad rubs at his stinging jaw before getting out of the car and looking over at a scared Nate.

"I'm sorry." Nate whispers, looking incredibly sad. He stares over at Brad. "You love me?"

"Yes." Brad nods simply.

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"But you aren't my boyfriend?"

 _That's what this is about_ , Brad thinks to himself. "Well, _technically_ , I'm your husband. Since you haven't actually gotten married yet, though, I suppose we would have to say that you're my boyfriend."

Nate steps forward and runs his hand down the front of Brad's chest. He really should push the sixteen-year-old away. "You're sixteen, Nate."

"Old enough." Nate tells him. He stops, his hand wrapped around Brad's. He lifts it up and starts. "You're bleeding. Why are you bleeding?"

Brad stares down at his hand and laughs. "It's from my nails when you were driving like a psychopath."

"Sorry," Nate sighs. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Yes, you did. But usually I feel safe when you're driving. It's just-"

"What?" Nate blinks at him curiously.

"I was in a car accident when I was a kid and I hate riding in cars."

"Oh, I'm - I'm really sorry." Nate tells him soberly.

"It's okay. What time is it?"

"Um," Nate turns the key and starts the car back up. "Fuck! 12:12! I'm late. How can I walk in all bloody like this?" He has Brad's blood on his hands and up on his shirt and a little smudge on his cheek.

"Here," Brad rubs a little underneath his nose. "You got a bad nosebleed."

"Okay," Nate nods slowly. "Dick's gonna freak out when he sees me like this."

"Dick? Where are your parents?"

"Mama's probably asleep. Dad is more than likely locked in his study, still making work phone calls." Nate gets back in the car along with Brad and they drive the rest of the way to the house. Brad leans over and kisses him softly.

"Good luck," he whispers.

"Thanks," Nate tells him, stepping out of the car and walking into his house. Brad sighs and gets out of the car, making sure it's locked and that Nate has the keys. He goes into the Meadow and lays down in the damp grass. He misses _his_ Nate.

 

_Sunday, April 10, 1995 (Nate is 16, Brad is 35)_

Brad materializes in the Meadow. He's rather nauseous as he gets up, hunting for the clothes under the bush. He finds a black jacket, Levi’s jeans, and some black shoes. Nate is seated in the Meadow, his knees tucked under his chin and pulled close to his chest. There's something in his eyes that's not right. Brad gets worried.

"Are you okay, Nate?" He asks, sitting down beside him.

"Hi, Brad." Nate hands him a thermos and a sandwich.

"Thanks, I feel kind of sick. I'll eat this in a second." He sips the coffee, feeling a little better as soon as he does. Nate won't look at him and after a moment of studying him, Brad realizes that Nate has been crying.

"Nate, are you okay?" He asks apprehensively.

"Brad, would you beat someone up for me?"

"What?"

"I want to hurt someone and I'm not big enough and I can't fight. Will you do it for me?"

"What are you talking about?"

Nate still won't look at him. "I don't want to talk about it. Couldn't you just take my word for it that he totally deserves it?"

Brad thinks for a moment. He believes he's heard this story before, so he moves closer to Nate and puts his arm around him. Nate leans into his shoulder.

"This is about some guy you went on a date with?" Brad asks him.

"Yeah."

"And he was a jerk and you want to pulverize him?"

"Yeah."

"Nate, lots of guys are jerks and assholes. _I_ can be a jerk and an asshole-"

"Not as big an asshole as Craig Schwetje." Nate says, laughing tearfully.

"He a football player or something?"

"Yeah."

"Nate, why on _earth_ would you think I could take on a football player in the prime of his life?" Brad pauses. "And why on _earth_ would you go out with someone like that?"

Nate shrugs slightly. He continues to look at anything except Brad. "At school, everyone keeps nagging at me because I never date anyone. Mike and Walt and Christeson try - I mean, there are all these rumors going on that I'm a hermaphrodite or some shit. Even my _mother_ keeps asking why I'm always at home. 'Why is no one interested, Nathan?'" He does a perfect imitation of his mother.

"Guys and girls ask me out and I turn them down. It was getting so ridiculous that I finally just sucked it up and said yes to the next person who asked. The next one was Craig. He's, like, this big jock and he's decently good looking and I knew that if I went out with him, everyone would find out and then they'd shut up."

"So this was the first time you went on a date?" Brad asks.

"Yes. We went to this Italian restaurant and Evan and John were there, too, and so were a few other people from my Trig class. We talked about school and stuff, he talked football, and then we went to see some stupid horror movie that was _awful._ "

"Which one?"

"Children of the Corn III."

"I saw that one." Brad nods.

"Why? It doesn't seem like your type of thing."

"Same reason you did; my date wanted to see it."

"What was your date's name?" Nate asks, though he doesn't sound too interested.

"My girlfriend at the time, Julia."

"Right, I remember." Nate nods to himself and sucks in a deep breath. "What was Julia like?"

"She was a bank teller with awesome breasts who liked handcuffs." The minute the words pop out of Brad's mouth, he wants to take them back. He'd forgotten he was speaking to sixteen-year-old Nate instead of his _husband_ Nate.

"Handcuffs?" Nate chuckles and raises an eyebrow.

"Never mind." Brad huffs. "So, you went to a movie and then?"

"He wanted to go out to Patton."

"Patton?"

"It's this small _almost_ town a few miles from here. There's this farm on the north side, which everyone just calls Patton because it's like the only building in the town that isn't way back in the woods. People go there to make out." Brad doesn't comment when he sees Nate bracing himself for something. "I told him I was tired and that I wanted to go home. He got mad."

Nate is quiet a long time. Brad starts to get nervous when Nate adds, "He was _really_ mad.

"What happened then?" Brad asks, even though he feels like he doesn't want to know.

"He refused to take me home. I wasn't sure exactly where we were, maybe Route 12, but he had taken us down this dirt road and there was this little cottage thing by a big pond."

Nate had never told Brad this story. When Brad had asked him about dating, he'd just said he went on an awful date once with a football player named Craig. Brad's gut is twisting itself into knots as Nate remains silent next to him. He has to ask.

"Nate. Did he...rape you?"

"No." Nate shakes his head, but he wraps his arms back around his knees and blinks. Brad knows he's trying not to cry. "He said I wasn't...good enough. He said - he didn't rape me." Nate sighs shakily. "He just...he hurt me. He made me..."

Brad wants to throw up. This shouldn't have happened. Not to Nate. _His_ Nate. Beautiful, smart, _perfect_ _Nate_.

Nate doesn't say anything as he slowly pulls his shirt over his head. There are bruises on his back, down his spine. Black marks across porcelain skin. Nate turns slightly and there's a blistered cigarette burn on his collarbone. Brad wants to kill Craig; he wants to watch him bleed and rot in a hole.

Nate looks like he's waiting for something, Brad isn't sure what. He knows, deep down, that somehow, Nate will make this his fault. No one as good as Nate should _ever_ have to feel like that.

"Where do I find him?" Brad asks, voice low and quiet.

"I'll drive you." Nate replies softly, pulling his shirt back on and leading the way.

 

Inside the car, images of Nate and this asshole run on a loop behind his eyes.

"How big is he?"

"A few inches shorter than you, but definitely a lot heavier. Maybe fifty or so pounds more."

"Okay," Brad nods.

"I brought this." Out of his bag he pulls a handgun.

"Nate!" Brad stares at him in astonishment.

"It's my dad's."

"Nate, that is a bad idea. A _very_ bad idea. I mean, I'm mad enough to use it right now, but that would be very stupid. Wait," he holds a finger up and takes the gun from Nate's shaking hands. He empties the chamber and puts them in Nate's bag before handing the gun back. "There, better. Brilliant idea, Nate."

Nate looks over at him questioningly. He looks so tired. Brad reaches across and squeezes his hand.

"Do you want me to do this anonymously or do you want him to know it's from you?" Brad asks him.

"I'm going with you." Nate says with a shake of his head. Brad blinks at him.

"Oh."

He pulls onto the side of the road after a beat of silence and parks. "I want to take him somewhere and I want you to hurt him like he hurt me and I want to watch. I want him to be scared _shitless_."

"Nate," Brad sighs sadly. "I don't usually do this thing. I usually fight only in self-defense."

" _Please_ ," Nate's voice cracks and his hands grip the steering wheel. He begins to cry and Brad's thought process narrows to a single need: to hurt Craig Schwetje so he will never hurt anyone else again.

"Of course." Brad promises, linking their fingers together. Nate takes another few minutes to settle himself before he turns the car back on and pulls back onto the road. They ride in silence for a long time before he pulls onto a gravel driveway and stops in front of a two-story Colonial house with yellow siding and white shudders.

Stepping out of the car, Brad can hear Masta Ace blaring from inside the house. He follows Nate up onto the porch to the front door and stands aside as Nate rings the doorbell. The music in the house cuts off abruptly and Brad hears heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs and the door swings open. A deep voice says, "What? You come back for more?"

Brad doesn't think, then. He swings around to stand beside Nate and holds the handgun up, pointed straight at this asshole's chest.

"Hi, Craig." Nate greets him flatly. "I thought you might want to come out with us."

Craig does the same thing Brad himself would do. He drops low and tries to barrel into Brad, but Brad knees him in the chest as he's ducking down and then lifts up with his fist, connecting solidly with Craig's nose. It immediately starts gushing blood. Brad points the gun at him as he looks him over. He's good looking, tan skinned, tall, dark hair, easy grin (No grin now, though), and Brad can see why Nate would say yes.

"What position does he play?" Brad asks Nate curiously.

"Halfback," Nate shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Never would have guess." Brad stares down at Craig, who is glaring up at him from the floor. "Get up. Hands where I can see them."

Craig complies, pushing himself up and holding his hands up in surrender, his nose dripping blood down his face and onto his shirt. Brad pushes the barrel of the gun between his shoulder blades and leads him down the porch steps. "Nate, go grab something to tie him up with."

Nate nods and goes inside, coming back a few moments later with duct tape and scissors.

"Where do you want to do this?" Brad asks him.

"The woods." Nate decides easily, his hot stare burning into the back of Craig's skull.

Brad marches Craig into the trees and then shoves him down against a large elm. "This good?"

"Yeah." Nate nods. Brad looks over at him. Nate is impassive, totally expressionless. No one would guess he'd just cried in his car a few minutes earlier.

"Your call, Nate. What should we do?" Brad asks.

"Tie him to the tree." Nate commands. Brad nods and hands Nate the gun, jerking Craig into position beside the tree, duct taping his hands around the back of the tree. There's almost a full roll of duct tape, and Brad wants to use as much as possible.

"Who...are you?" Craig asks, sniffing while his nose continues to bleed.

"Nate's boyfriend." Brad replies easily. "I'm here to teach you some manners, since you apparently don't have any." Nate is pacing a few feet away and Brad leans close so just Craig can hear. "How could you do that to him? He's so young, he doesn't know anything, and now you've completely fucked up everything-"

"He's...a cock...tease."

"He doesn't know that." Brad shakes his head at the boy. "It's like torturing a kitten because it bit you." He looks over where Nate is pacing. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he nods, holding up the scissors. He walks over and kneels before Craig, starting to snip his clothes off.

"Hey!" Craig shouts.

"Please be quiet." Brad tells him. "No one is hurting you. At the moment."

Nate pulls off the jeans he’d cut up before moving to the boy's T-shirt. At the same time, Brad hauls Craig up and begins taping his whole body, starting at the ankles. Craig is tan pretty much everywhere except for the small, crisp outline of a Speedo-type bathing suit. He's sweating like a pig and breathing heavily.

Brad and Nate step back to admire the sight of Craig, duct taped from ankle to shoulder to the tree like a mummy. Nate begins to laugh, but it doesn't warm Brad. The laugh is wrong, too cruel to come from someone like Nate. It isn't right.

Brad realizes that this is it; this is the switch between Nate's childhood and his life as a man. The boy he once was is gone. This makes Brad unknowably sad.

"What next?" He asks Nate. Part of Brad wants to continue, because anyone who can do to Nate what Craig did deserves everything coming to him. However, Brad doesn't think it's a very fair fight with a guy taped to a tree.

"I think this is enough." Nate shrugs. Brad sighs, slightly relieved.

"You sure?" He questions. "I mean, there are all sorts of things we could do. Broken eardrums, nose...can't play football without an Achilles’."

"No!" Craig screams, starting to cry.

"Apologize, then." Brad tells him sharply. Craig's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His gaze snaps to Nate's face.

"I'm sorry." He says after a beat of hesitation.

"Not good enough." Brad growls, stepping closer.

"I know." Nate puts a hand on Brad's shoulder, stopping him. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a marker. On the duct tape, Nate writes out an account of their date before pulling out his phone.

"We can't just leave him, you know." Brad comments. "He might freeze."

"Don't worry." Nate says, dialing and putting the phone to his ear. "I'll call some people."

"Wait a minute!" Craig yells at him.

"What?" Nate raises an eyebrow at him.

"Who are you calling? Call Sixta!"

"Not a chance." Nate shakes his head with a laugh. "I'm going to call some people who will _love_ this."

As Nate makes the call, Brad steps closer, putting the muzzle of the gun under Craig's chin. "You tell anyone about me, I will come back and _fuck you up_ , do you understand? You won't be able to walk, talk, eat, or fuck when I'm done. As far as you know, Nate is a great guy who for some inexplicable reason doesn't date, you hear?"

Craig's eyes shine with hatred. "Yes."

"Trust me, Craig. I've been very lenient here. If you come after Nate again in any way, you'll regret it."

"I get it." Craig spits.

"Good." Brad slides the gun into the back of his jeans. "Have a great day." He turns to walk away when Craig calls out,

"Hey, dickface!"

 _Oh, what the hell_. Brad turns and heaves all of his effort into the foot he places in Craig's groin. He shrieks loudly, tears running down his face. Brad hopes that he passes out.

"Let's go." He tells Nate, who is staring at Craig with a pale face.

As they drive back to Nate's house, it's very quiet. Brad watches Nate closely as he drives, the rain spitting down on the windshield pitifully.

"Is that what you wanted?" He asks quietly.

"Yes." Nate nods jerkily. "Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." Brad promises. He starts to feel nauseous. _No, I need more time!_

"I think I'm almost gone." He whispers. Nate pulls over sharply, turning to watch him.

"Kiss me!" He begs, and Brad acquiesces, kissing him gently before he disappears completely.

 

_Monday, April 11, 1995 (Nate is 16)_

When Nate goes to the kitchen, Walt is waiting quietly. He offers Nate a cup of coffee, which Nate accepts gratefully.

"Are you okay?" He asks. Nate nods.

"Mostly,"

"Mike and I did what you asked."

"What time?" Nate asks dully, pouring some milk into his coffee and mixing in some sugar.

"Around five or six." Walt replies. "I was afraid his parents were going to show up. It was really hard to cut him out. We ripped off all his chest hair."

"Good," Nate nods again. "Did a lot of people see?"

"Yeah, about half the high school." They stand in silence for a little while. "Look, Nate, I completely understand _why_ you did it. What I don't understand is _how_ you did it."

"I had some help." Nate shrugs. "We should get going. Don't want to be late for school."

Walt watches him carefully as he collects his bag and they leave.

Throughout school, Nate can't stop thinking about the look on Brad's face after he kicked Craig: utterly indifferent, like he did this every day. As though he was thinking about a homework assignment or what to make for supper. He didn't look worried until he looked over at Nate, wondering how Nate would react. Brad _enjoyed_ hurting Craig. Was that the same thing as Craig enjoying hurting _him_?

 _Brad is good_ , Nate tells himself. _Does that make it okay, though? Does it make it okay that I_ wanted _him to do it?_

He walks to his third period gym class with Mike and Evan Stafford.

"Damn, dude." Mike tells him with a laugh. "I couldn't believe it. How did you get him duct taped to the tree?"

"I had a friend help me out." Nate tells him.

"Who is this 'friend'?" Mike asks.

"A client of my dad's."

"Bullshit," Mike shakes his head. "You're a horrible liar. It was Brad, right?"

Nate shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips as they push into the locker room. Nate opens his locker and tugs his jeans off, pulling his gym shorts on. He looks over at Mike.

"Hey, Mike." He peels his shirt off and Mike turns around.

"Jesus, Nate!" Mike exclaims. The bruises look worse today than they did yesterday. They're green and yellow, the welts from Craig's belt turning black and blue.

"Nate," Evan breathes, frowning at the cigarette burn on his collarbone. The locker room is silent, the guys all turning to stare. Suddenly, someone in the back starts clapping. Someone else shouts out,

"Yeah! Get some!"

They're laughing, then, and cheering and clapping. Nate thinks, _it’s okay. It's going to be okay._

 

_Monday, July 30, 2006 (Nate is 27, Brad is 35)_

Nate is almost asleep when he feels Brad's long fingers on his stomach. He blinks a few times in the dark and turns on their bed to see Brad caressing the small scar on his collar bone. Nate doesn't need to ask where he came from.

"Thank you," he murmurs, just like he had in the car before Brad disappeared. He loved him so much, even then.

"It was my pleasure." Brad promises, kissing his collar bone and then his chest and his stomach before pulling Nate to him in the dark.

They don't speak of it again.

 

_Saturday, September 11, 1995 (Nate is 16, Brad is 32)_

Brad is resting lazily in the grass of the Meadow, his head pillowed on one of Nate's thighs. Nate has a huge midterm paper due on Monday, so he's using his other thigh as a desktop, writing out his first draft while his left hand trails lazily through Brad's hair.

Brad feels content to stay there for a long time; in the present, he and Nate are struggling.

"I want to frame you, just like that." Nate tells him softly.

"Upside down and asleep?" Brad hums, not opening his eyes.

"Relaxed." Nate laughs. "You look very peaceful."

"Go ahead, then." Brad tells him. Nate doesn't know the future; he doesn't have the power of knowing that when Brad leaves, he isn't gone for long.

Nate shuffles around his school bag, looking for his small camera.

"Should I move?" Brad asks.

"No, that would change it too much." Nate tells him. "Just stay where you are." Brad hears a click from the camera and blinks up at Nate. Nate is grinning down at him, looking like the rest of the world has fallen away. He is entirely focused on Brad's face, his attention something that Brad yearns for at all hours of the day. Brad feels like he's everything to Nate in that moment. It's the same look Nate gives him when they're making love in their bedroom, intimate and free.

"I forgot to ask." Nate says. "Where are you coming from?"

"August, 2002."

"Oh," Nate frowns. "I thought maybe sometime later."

"Why?" Brad jokes. "Do I look old?"

"No," he traces the outline of Brad's mouth. "But you always seem happier and calm when you come from the late 90s/early 2000s."

"You sound like a fortune teller." Brad laughs. "I never realized you tracked my moods so closely."

"What else do I have to go on?"

"It's stress that sends me in your direction." Brad tells him. "Don't get the idea that those years are absolutely horrid. There are a lot of nice things in those years, too."

They're silent a little longer, but Brad notices that Nate doesn't pick his pen back up.

"What are you afraid of, Brad?" He asks.

Brad thinks this over for a minute. "Cold." He tells him. "I'm afraid of winter, I'm afraid of police, I'm afraid of traveling to the wrong place and time and getting hit by a car or beat up, or getting stranded forever in time and not going back." He pauses. "I'm very afraid of losing you."

"How could you lose me?" Nate smiles softly down at him again. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I worry you'll get tired of me and my un-dependableness and you'll leave me."

"I couldn't leave you." Nate tells him confidently. "Even if you're always leaving me."

"I never _want_ to leave you."

The photo has fully developed and Nate shows it to Brad. He then flips it over and starts to write the date, but Brad suddenly sits up and grabs his wrist.

"Don't," he says. Nate blinks up at him and frowns.

"What?"

"It's not dated."

"It's not?"

"I've seen it before." Brad tells him. "There isn't a date on it."

"Okay." Nate tells him, setting pencil back down. He pauses. "Do you ever find that you go back to your present and something has changed? I mean, what if I _did_ write the date on this? What would happen?"

"I don't know." Brad replies honestly. "Try it."

Nate does, writing _September 11, 1995._

"That was easy." He chuckles. "If I've violated the space-time continuum, it isn't obvious."

"I'll let you know if you've just caused World War III." Brad jokes. His left eye is starting to throb. "I think I'm going, Nate."

Nate leans forward and kisses him deeply. Brad dissolves into nothing and Nate sighs, going back to his homework.

 

_Thursday, August 31, 2002 (Nate is 24, Brad is 32)_

Brad appears on the bathroom floor with a small _thud_. The shower is still running, which means he can't have been gone long. Otherwise, Nate would have come to investigate and shut the water off.

Brad climbs in and scrubs himself clean, feeling oddly out of sorts. When he gets out and dried, he pulls on a sweatshirt and shorts and goes upstairs to Nate's home office. Nate is tapping at his laptop when Brad appears in the doorway.

"Hey," he says with a two-fingered wave to him, turning and shuffling through some folders. "What's up?"

"Where is that old picture you had? From 1995? When we were in the Meadow." Brad asks. "The one of just me?"

Nate frowns up at him, thinking. "Um, I don't...hang on." He turns to where he's got some things pinned to a board. The picture is tacked underneath a few sheets of paper. He unpins it and hands it to Brad. Brad flips it over in his hands, but there still isn't a date.

"What happened to the date?" Brad asks. Nate watches him closely.

"What date?"

"You wrote the date on the back, here." He points.

Nate laughs slightly. "Okay, I confess. I erased it a few minutes after you left."

"Why?"

"I got all freaked out about your...what was it you said? Something about World War III, right?"

"Yeah," Brad chuckles.

"I started thinking, what if we never meet in the future all because I insisted on trying it out?"

"I'm glad you erased it." Brad tells him. Nate tilts his head, his tactical look assessing Brad carefully.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Brad shrugs. "I just am."

Nate smiles and saves whatever it was on his laptop he was working on. He stands up.

"Well, I'm glad you had fun with your sixteen-year-old piece of ass." He remarks sarcastically. "Ready to go to Walt's?"

"Yeah," Brad nods, following Nate out. Brad can't shake the feeling that they just dodged the impossible.

 


	4. Always Crashing in the Same Car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Walt and Ray finally make an appearance! YAY!

 

_Saturday, December 24, 1995 (Nate is 17, Brad is 40)_

Brad is sitting in the Reading Room of Nate's house, alone and exhausted. Nate had left behind some fruit and crackers along with Christmas cookies and candy canes. Brad is wearing a pair of Nate's sweatpants and a _Sex Pistols_ T-shirt Nate bought him. He should be happy, but he isn't.

Nate had left him an issue of _The_ _Baltimore Daily_ dated December 24, 1995. Christmas Eve. This evening, in the _Get Me High Lounge_ in Santa Rosa, twenty-five-year-old Brad will drink until he slowly slides off the bar stool and onto the floor, ending up having his stomach pumped at Mercy Hospital.

It is the twenty-first anniversary of his parents' death.

Brad sits quietly, thinking about them. His mother loved to sing. She would sing when doing laundry, making dinner, driving in the car. His father laughed a lot and had permanent laugh-lines around his mouth and eyes. They were happy and in love. Altogether, they were a perfect little family.

Brad has seen his parents alive many times, thanks to time traveling. It didn’t make it any easier, though. He could sit outside the open window of their old home and listen to his mother sing him to sleep. He has talked to his dad in a supermarket before. He's watched his mother and father at a Fourth of July parade, little baby Brad in a carrier on his father's back.

He's seen his parents get married and he's seen his mother pregnant with him many times. She was pregnant with another child when she died, Brad found out many years later. Six to eight weeks along, the doctors decided. She liked to wear fake eyelashes and dark lipstick. She was beautiful, and his father looked at her how Nate sometimes looks at Brad.

At least his mother deserved it.

He hears the front door open upstairs and looks up at the ceiling. There are heavy footsteps and then voices carry down the stairs. Brad counts to thirty-two before he hears two knocks, a pause, and then two more knocks. The door opens quietly and Nate slowly slips inside.

There are still snowflakes in his soft brown hair and his cheeks are red. He's wearing a dark green sweater jacket over his black dress pants, no shoes or socks, and a wide grin.

"Merry Christmas, Brad!" He says, launching himself into Brad's lap. "I'm so glad you're here!"

Brad kisses his cheek but doesn't return the sentiment. Nate pulls back with a frown, snow melting into his hair much like Brad disappearing without a trace.

"What's wrong?" He demands, looking worried.

"It's nothing." Brad shakes his head, Nate slipping from his lap into the space next to him on the couch. Nate doesn't stop frowning.

"Is something wrong in - Where are you coming from?"

"2010," Brad replies. "But everything is fine there, don't worry."

"I _will_ worry. You're sad."

Brad considers this a moment, then says, "Have I ever told you about my parents?"

"No," Nate shakes his head. He looks ready to listen, though, always eager to learn more about his mystery gentleman caller. The dates in his notebook are dwindling fast, very few remaining. Over the last year and a half, Nate has gotten more and more desperate to try and find him in the present.

"They were deeply in love." Brad tells him. "Just a poor, newly-married couple living in South Chicago. Then they had me, and we were all very happy. My mom was a book publisher who would always go to this bar for karaoke night. She was a wonderful singer. My dad was an accountant, _so_ smart. He couldn't carry a tune, but I remember they were always singing together. It was almost Christmas-"

"What year?"

"I was four." Brad tells him. "It was Christmas Eve night and we were going to the airport because we were going to Vienna on vacation."

"That sounds nice."

"Yeah," Brad nods, staring down at his hands. "It was snowing really hard on the way to the airport, the roads were really icy. My dad hated the expressways, but we were running late, so he was already pretty nervous.

"We got behind this truck, a good distance away, but there was this little Corvette behind us that was being driven by a more than slightly inebriated dentist. It came down a bit too quickly and couldn't slow down properly to merge into traffic, so it ended up ramming straight into us.

"Now, in ordinary conditions, the Corvette would have been mangled and our car might have gotten away with just a dented fender, but the weather was bad, the roads were slick, and the Corvette kept accelerating, even after it hit us. It shoved us forward as the truck in front of us was slowing down to turn off the expressway. My dad was stomping on the brakes, but the ice just pushed us right along.

"The truck was carrying a full load of scrap metal in its open flatbed, and a large sheet of steel smashed through the car window and decapitated my parents."

" _Jesus_ ," Nate breathes, tears welling in his eyes.

"The steel sliced through my neck, here." He shows Nate the scar dragging from below his jaw to behind his ear. "And I got glass in my eye."

"How did you even survive?"

"The police couldn't figure it out." Brad says quietly. "All my clothes were in the car, on the seat, and I was found stark naked by the side of the road, my neck and eye bleeding."

"You time-travelled?"

"Yes."

"But - I thought you first travelled when you were five."

"That's the first time I remember. I don't remember travelling, just one second blood, next second naked and cold in a hospital. The left side of my face had still been disappearing when the steel slid into the back seat. If I'd gone a second earlier, I wouldn't have gotten caught by it at all."

"How do you think it happened?"

"Stress and pure fear. I think my body did the only trick it could to try and protect itself."

"So..." Nate is clutching Brad's hand tightly.

"My parents died and I didn't. The front end of our car crumpled up, the steering column went through my dad's chest, and my mom’s head went through the now empty windshield and into the back of the truck. There was _so much blood_." Brad hesitates, and then says in a low voice, "The Corvette driver was just fine, his car only had a small scratch. The truck driver got out of his truck and slipped on the ice, cracking his skull. I think he lived, but I'm not sure.

"I was completely absent from the scene for eight minutes and twenty-three seconds. Again, I have no clue where I went, so for me, it probably wasn't more than a second or two. Traffic came to a complete halt and the ambulance couldn't get to us for almost a half hour. Paramedics had to run to us, and one found me on the shoulder of the road. The only person who saw me appear was this little girl in the back of a Chevrolet station wagon. She just stared and stared."

Nate is quiet for a long time, before he frowns up at Brad.

"But, Brad, if you don't remember, how could you possibly know that you were gone for exactly eight minutes and twenty-three minutes?"

Brad opens his mouth, but hesitates.

"You know how with gravity, the larger something is, the more mass it has, and the more gravitational pull it exerts?"

"Yes..."

"Their death - My parents - it's the pivotal thing. Everything else goes around and around it...I dream about it, but I also time travel there. If you could see every detail of it; all the people, trees, cars, snowdrifts, roads - If you could absorb every detail, you'd see me. I am in cars, behind bushes, on the bridge, in a tree. I have seen it from every angle and I am a participant in the aftermath. _I_ called the police. _I_ sat in the hospital waiting room as they brought me in, bleeding and in shock. _I_ walked along the shoulder and put a blanket around my thin shoulders. _I_ looked into my own, small, uncomprehending face and I thought...I thought..." Brad breaks off with a choking sound that startles Nate. There are tears dripping out of his right eye, his left eye turning red.

"What?" He begs, putting his hands on Brad's cheeks and meeting his gaze. "What, Brad?"

"I thought, _I should have died, too._ "

Nate wraps him in a tight hug and Brad allows himself this moment of weakness. He practically ruins Nate's shirt, meaning he has to leave and come back with one of Walt's dress shirts. It's tight in the shoulders, where he's outgrown his twin, but otherwise it works.

"I'm really sorry, Nate." He tells him earnestly. "I didn't mean to put all this on you or ruin your Christmas. This time of year is just...hard."

"I'm glad you're here." Nate tells him, sitting back down and kissing his gently. "You know, I'd rather know - I mean, you just come out of nowhere and disappear - If I know things about your life, I can help."

"Nate!" Walt shouts down the stairs. Nate looks towards the door and then back at Brad.

"Go," he urges, kissing Nate once more.

"Okay," he sighs. "Coming!" He gets up and runs for the stairs, Brad closing the door softly behind him.

 

_Saturday, February 3, 1998 (Nate is 19, Brad is 27)_

Nate has invited him to his apartment to meet Walt and Ray, which is both exciting and nerve wrecking.

"Does Walt know?"

"No, you've never met Walt." Nate had said, shaking his head.

"In the entire time I knew you in your childhood?"

"Nope." Nate shrugged. "It was safer that way, I suppose."

Dressed in his Sunday best, Brad rings the buzzer for the warehouse apartment they own on the fourth floor. Brad hasn't met any of Nate's friends or relatives yet, which he hadn't minded. He has no clue what to expect.

The buzzer makes a horrible sound and Brad opens the door, stomping his feet to get the snow off his boots. A voice from above calls, "All the way up!"

Brad trudges up the four flights and is greeted by the voice's owner. He's short and tan, with dark brown hair and what Brad can only describe as J-Lo glasses covering his eyes. He wears a lazy grin and an _AC/DC_ T-shirt over dark jeans.

"Welcome, Library Boy!" He shouts with a grin. Brad pauses, thinking he looks familiar. He's never met Walt, though, Nate had said.

"You Walt?"

"Walt?" The guy laughs. "I, my friend, am the one and only Ray, the world's greatest lover, fighter, Marine, and husband."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night!" Another male voice shouts from inside the apartment. The grin, if possible, gets _wider_.

"It's nice to meet you, Ray." Brad says with a laugh, shaking the strange guy's hand firmly. _Isn't he a little..._ small _for a Marine?_

Ray ushers him into the apartment which is a large, open living room that leads into a large kitchen. There are a few doors on the left that Brad figures are the bedrooms. He can hear talking in the kitchen and _Always Crashing in the Same Car_ by David Bowie is playing from the stereo in the living room. Ray leads him around the corner to the open kitchen where Brad is met by the wonderful smell of chicken and peppers.

"My kittens!" Ray announces loudly. "I have, for your enjoyment, brought you a new toy. It answers to Brad, but you can call it Library Boy."

Brad looks over at Nate, who shrugs helplessly and offers him a smile. Brad steps over and kisses his cheek before turning to the man holding the pan over the stove. Walt sets the pan down and shakes Brad's hand. He flicks a look at Ray.

"Ray, shut up." Ray winks at him and Walt laughs. "Welcome, Brad. I'm Walt Person. Please ignore my husband; we only keep him around to lift heavy objects."

"And sex!" Ray adds, taking a bite of a cracker. "Don't forget the sex!" He looks at Brad. "Beer?"

"Sure," Brad nods. He studies Walt, whose face is open and heart-shaped, so kind that it makes Brad want to confide something in him just to hear his advice. How he ended up with someone as loud as Ray is anyone's guess.

Ray tosses him a beer, which he takes a long pull of. He looks over to see brownies cooling on the counter.

"I'm in charge of frosting." Nate tells him. Ray laughs.

"It's the only thing I trust him to do without ruining anything or giving us all food poisoning." Walt says.

"Probably a wise choice." Brad comments, earning him a sharp elbow in the rib from Nate.

"Can we eat those first?" Ray asks.

"Nope." Walt tells him simply, flicking the pan and the peppers flip over with a nice sizzle.

"I don't know why I always get mocked. It's not like Ray can cook, either."

"Word to the motherfucking _street_ , yo!" Ray argues, looking dramatically offended. "I can order pizza like a _pro_."

"And Thai," Walt nods. He adds, "Nate knows how to eat."

"Shut up!" Nate rolls his eyes but laughs nonetheless.

"Can _you_ cook, Library Book?"

"A little," Brad shrugs. Walt sighs, mock-relieved.

"Thank the good Lord, I won't always have to fend for you two."

"You love it." Ray tells him, leaning over from where he's hopped onto the counter and kissing Walt thoroughly.

"I do."

"Gross, get a room." Nate throws a towel at them and Walt wiggles his eyebrows.

"Ray, get me some plates."

"Yes, sir." Ray salutes him and hops off the counter, opening a close-by cabinet and pulling out four blue plates.

"I got the wine!" Nate calls.

"Brad, can you grab those?" Walt asks, nodding to the glasses. Brad picks them up as Walt dishes out the food onto the plates. They make their way towards the kitchen table and all sit.

An hour and forty-five minutes later, they're all well-fed and drunk as skunks.

 

Throughout dinner, they talk about everything and everything. Ray is excited that Brad is interested in the Marines, especially when he finds out that Ray is not _actually_ a frat boy, but is truly very smart.

"Is it true that Newberry has a book made out of human skin?" Walt asks Brad some time later.

"Yeah," Brad nods. " _The Chronicles of Nawat Wuzeer Hyderabed._ It was found in the palace of the King of Delhi in 1857. Come by sometime and I'll pull it out for you."

"Awesome!" Ray nods his approval, taking another bite of Walt's cooking and moaning out loud, causing Walt's face to flush bright red.

"I'm gonna go frost the brownies." Nate says, sliding away from the table.

"Ooh, I'll help!" Ray says, jumping out of his seat and following him into the kitchen. Nate grabs the can of frosting and a knife. Ray turns and looks out at the table before turning back to Nate.

"He's the same guy, Nate." Ray says, his voice suddenly low and serious. Nate frowns over at him.

"What?"

"The guy I warned you about! Brad, he's the guy-"

"You are _not_ helping." Walt says, swinging into the kitchen. Ray rolls his eyes.

"I'm just keeping young Nathaniel company, _honey_."

"Go and entertain Brad." Walt commands. Ray sighs but does as he's told, sliding his fingers over Walt's hip as he passes.

"You sure you got this?" Walt asks. Nate finishes the frosting and looks over at him.

" _Yes,_ mother." Nate rolls his eyes and he and Walt go back to the table

"So, _Brad_." Ray says as Walt starts cutting the brownies and passing out pieces. "You look very familiar."

"Yeah," Brad nods slowly, assessing Ray. "You look kind of familiar, too."

" _Rage Against the Machine_ concert." Ray nods. "You were with...a blonde girl, I think. Julia Thomas. I always used to see you with her." Brad can sense Nate is becoming uncomfortable with this.

Walt glares over at Ray. "You saw _Rage Against the Machine_ without me?"

"The bakery was just opening." Ray explains. "It was right after we got married. Like, a week or two later. You remember, we had tickets!" Ray looks panicked, not at all wanting to upset Walt.

"Oh, right." Walt nods. "I remember."

This breaks them down into a conversation about music tastes, which leads to Nate and Walt smearing chocolate frosting on each other and Ray tipping over in his chair from too much alcohol.

Nate is walking Brad to his car when he suddenly stops and looks regretful. "I'm sorry."

"It was fun!" Brad assures him, smiling down at him. "Walt is a great cook."

"I meant about Ray."

"What about Ray?" Brad laughs. "He's out there, but he's a cool guy."

"He's really protective, both of Walt and me. He knows that our childhood wasn't the greatest. I'm not sure exactly what happened with you and him-"

"It's all okay." Brad tells him.

"Yeah," Nate nods. "I'm assured of this."

"I love you." Brad whispers, leaning down and kissing him. Nate smiles and turns to go back upstairs. Brad watches until the door swings shut behind him, leaving Brad in the frigid air.

 

_Wednesday, February 28, 1998 (Brad is 38)_

Brad kicks the guy in the gut in the back alley. He's a drunk asshole as well as a homophobic shit, so Brad doesn't feel too sorry about possibly breaking his nose. Calling someone a faggot is _rude_.

"Library Boy?"

Brad turns sharply to find Ray staring at him from the sidewalk.

"Hello, Ray." Brad says, stepping away from the groaning drunk mess on the ground. "How are you on this fine evening?" Ray does not in any way seem happy to see him, but Brad is all too excited to see a familiar face.

"Look," Ray says slowly. Brad notes that he's in full Marine posture, shoulders straight, chest slightly pushed out, looking ready to use some of his skills if need be. "I don't want to _disturb_ you or anything, but that's a friend of mine you're dismembering."

"You have homophobic friends?" Brad frowns. "Does Walt know?"

"I don't-"

"Plus, he truly did ask for it. Just walked up to me and said, 'Sir, I urgently need to be firmly macerated.'"

"Well, okay." Ray looks stumped. "Well done."

"Thank you." Brad thumbs his bleeding lip and then turns to fully face his best friend. He realizes that where he is in time is definitely before his and Ray's friendship has begun, though.

"Do you mind if I scoop up ol' Trombley here and call him a cab?"

"Go for it." Brad shrugs and watches as Ray picks up the bleeding, groaning mass off the ground and drags him to the edge of the sidewalk. After a minute or two, a cab rolls up and Ray ushers his friend inside, telling the cab driver an address and handing him a twenty. Ray turns back to look at Brad.

"So?"

"What's the date?" Brad asks him conversationally.

"February 28." Ray frowns.

"What year?"

Ray looks like he's humoring a lunatic when he replies very slowly, "1998. You must be way drunker than you look if you can't fucking remember that." He turns and starts walking away as Brad quickly calculates the day and the year. _Shit_ , he thinks. He has only just met Ray and Walt for the first time. Ray is a protective little shit, and he now understands why Ray thinks he's crazy.

He catches up with Ray, who stops to look up at him. "Excuse my whiskey tango upbringing, but can I ask, dear Library Boy, why you're wearing that?"

Brad is dressed in blue jeans, a pink sweater, and purple women's tennis shoes. He understands why Trombley felt the need to hit him.

"It was the best I could do at the time." Brad shrugs, continuing walking. A second later, Ray falls into step beside him. "Why are you consorting with homophobic frat boys?"

"We toured together." Ray says sharply. _Ah,_ Brad things. _Always loyal, his dear Ray._ They pass an Army-Navy surplus store and Brad stops in front of it.

"This will just take a second. Could you just go home and forget this happened?"

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. What are you doing?"

"Breaking and entering. Pay no attention to the man in the pink sweater." Brad grins wickedly and then throws his elbow into the glass window of the door, reaches inside, and flicks the lock open. The door swings open and he and Ray step inside. There's another door, one that actually leads into the store instead of a small entry way, and Brad goes to work picking the lock with a pen on some dangling clipboard at the welcome table. Ray watches carefully as Brad easily opens the second door.

"Where did you learn to break and enter?"

"It's a talent." Brad shrugs, stepping inside and going for the first items of clothes he can find that might actually fit him. "Make sure not to touch anything." He pulls on a black wool overcoat and dark Levi's jeans. He finds a pair of Docs that fit, _score_ , and slides them on before looking over at Ray who is looking around the counter.

"Don't both. This place doesn't leave cash in the register at night."

"I wasn't going to _steal_ -"

"Come on." Brad waves for him to follow as they exit the store, closing both doors with a click behind them.

"I'm hungry." Brad tells him casually. "Let's go to Ann Sather's."

"Ann Sather's?" Ray looks incredulous. "I was expecting you to propose _bank robbery_ , or _manslaughter_ at the very least." But he's grinning, so Brad takes it as a compliment. "I mean, you're on a roll, might as well keep going."

"I must pause in my labors to refuel." Brad tells him. "Come on."

A few blocks away, they find Ann Sather's and go in, sliding into a back booth and looking down at the menus on the table. They don't really need them, though. They've been here enough in Brad's future to know exactly what they want, exactly _how_ they want. Brad orders for them both, much to Ray’s shock.

"You're in good shape." Ray comments slowly. "Almost like a Marine. Shit, you could have just killed Trombley and you weren't even winded. _And_ he's a Marine!"

"He was a drunk Marine, though, which I've heard makes them easy targets."

"Why'd you lay into him?"

"It was stupidity." Brad sighs. "He called me a not-so-nice name. Again, why are you friends with a homophobe? Walt is a sweetheart, you really shouldn't subject him to that."

"Trombley is a character, and he's protected my six enough times to form a bond. Walt hasn't met him for this very reason, though. I know what he's like, but in combat, it doesn't fucking matter. The only people you can trust are you and the guy next to you. Mine just happened to be James Trombley."

"Well, I was minding my own business."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Pardon?" Brad raises an eyebrow. Ray rolls his eyes.

"Brad, I might talk like a motherfucking hick, and I might sometimes act like one, but I'm not clueless. I'm a fucking Reconnaissance Marine who could mess you up five ways to Sunday. I've been paying attention to you for some time now, even before Nate brought you home. I mean, I don't know if you're aware of it, but you are moderately notorious in certain circles. I know a lot of people who know you; they all say some pretty strange things."

A young teenage boy comes back with their orders; Brad gets a cheeseburger and fries while Ray gets a bacon sandwich with chicken wild rice soup.

"What would you like to know, Ray?" Brad asks, watching him closely.

"Everything!" Ray laughs humorlessly. "I mean, I want to know why a seemingly mild-mannered librarian-slash-surf-instructor beats a guy into a coma over a stupid comment while wearing kindergarten teacher clothing. I want to know why you look ten years older right now than you did the last time I saw you. Your hair is going gray, you know that? I want to know why you can pick a Yale Lock, and I want to know why Nate had a photograph of you before he actually _met_ you."

Nate has a photo of him? In 1998? Brad didn't know this. "What does the photo look like?"

"More like you look at the moment, not like you looked a few weeks ago when you first came for dinner."

Fuck, this is Ray's second time meeting him. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

"The picture was taken outdoors and you're smiling. There isn't a date on the back, but it looks like this place near Walt's childhood home. It's taken on a camera definitely not from 1998."

Brad doesn't hesitate to explain to him for two reasons; Ray is a Marine who is all-for smacking the shit out of someone in order to get information, and Ray will soon be assisting him repeatedly.

"Don't worry." He tells Ray seriously, chowing down on his burger. "I'm going to confess to you, but I just want to finish my food, first. I really am starving." Ray sighs but starts to eat his own food. When they're done, they both get coffee and Ray waits for Brad to begin.

"Alright, I'm just going to say it." Brad shrugs. "I can time travel."

"Okay." Ray rolls his eyes. He doesn't need to deal with this shit. Brad sighs.

"I really can. At the moment I'm thirty-eight and this afternoon was April 12, 2009. It was a Thursday and I was walking into mine and Nate's house to find some paperwork Nate needed for work. I then found myself on School Street in 1998, where I had the usual problem of finding something to wear. I broke into this car and found these horrendous clothes. Obviously, a man of my height and age should _never_ wear something like that, so your friend decided to let me know how ridiculous I looked.

"I wanted your friend’s clothes, which is why I was trying to get him unconscious. I find myself in situations like this all the time, no pun intended. There's something wrong with me. I get dislocated in time, for no reason. I can't control it and I never know when it's going to happen or when or where I'll end up. In order to cope, I pick locks, I shoplift, I pick pockets, mug people, panhandle, break and enter, steal cars, lie, fold, spindle, and mutilate. You name it, I've done it."

"Murder," Ray shoots back swiftly.

"Well, not that I know of. I've never raped anybody, either." Brad shrugs again. "Oh, and now that you mention it, I do remember Trombley briefly. Be careful, in 2006 there's this crazy-"

"This is a sick joke, Library Boy." Ray says, unimpressed.

"You want proof." It isn't a question. It's what everyone wants. "Well, how about that photograph?"

Ray's smile drops. "I admit." He tells Brad. "I'm confused on that one."

"I met Nate for the first time in January, 1998. _Nate_ first met _me_ in September of 1984. He was only six and I was thirty-six. Nate has known me his whole life, and right now, in 1998, I'm only just getting to know him. By the way, you could just ask Nate this. He'll tell you everything. He's a very honest person."

"I already did." Ray crosses his arms over his chest. "He told me."

"Well, _hell_ , Ray! You're taking up valuable time here, making me retell you. Why wouldn't you just believe Nate?"

"Would _you_?"

"Sure!" Brad nods eagerly. "He and Walt are cut from the same cloth; they're both very honest people, probably from their Catholic upbringing. What kind of proof do you need?"

"Nate says you disappear."

"I do." Brad nods again, taking a sip from his steaming coffee. "It's one of my most dramatic parlor tricks. Stick to me like glue and you'll see sooner or later. It could take minutes, it could take hours. Shit, sometimes it takes _days_ , but I'm very reliable when it comes to disappearing."

"Do we know each other? In 2009, I mean."

"Oh, yeah." Brad grins. "We're best friends, which is both infuriating and hilarious. We're very different."

"Well, you're like eight feet tall and a thief whereas I'm short and a fucking Marine."

"That is one reason, yes. More like you're a whiskey tango Midwestern hick who grew up with ten truck-driving stepdad's who turned you into a sick little fuck who somehow managed to woo sweet, innocent Walt into your clutches."

"That I am." Ray winks. "Tell me about the future."

"No." Brad says instantly, his face shutting down.

"Why not?"

"Things happen, Ray. Knowing about them in advance fucks you up. It makes everything...weird. You can't change anything, anyways."

"Why?" Ray seems confused by this concept.

"Causation only runs forward, Ray. Things happen once, _only_ once. If you know things...I feel trapped most of the time. If you are in time, not knowing...you're free. Trust me." This seems to frustrate Ray further. Brad sighs.

"You'll be my best man at our wedding. You have a good life, Ray, you're safe with Walt. I won't tell you anything else but that." At the mention of Walt, Ray's face softens. In 2009, his face still does that at the mention of his husband.

"What about being a Marine?"

"You're okay, Ray. That's all I can tell you." Brad then jokes, "Clap your hands if you believe in fairies!"

"I thought you just spent this whole evening _pole-axing_ anyone who insinuated anything about fairies." Ray waggles his eyebrows.

"It's from _Peter Pan_ , you illiterate _hick_!" Brad laughs. He's starting to feel nauseous; he doesn't want to cause a scene. "Follow me." He says quickly. Ray tosses some bills onto the table and they quickly exit the restaurant, moving into a nearby alley way where Brad is starting to sweat. He throws up the burger he'd just eaten and Ray stares at him in disgust.

"Jesus, Library Boy! What are you-"

Brad doesn't hear the next part, though, because he's lying on the living room floor in his house. Safe and sound in 2009. He sighs. India, his and Nate's Dutch Shepherd, is staring curiously down at him. Brad laughs and pats his head as he stands up. He looks at the clock and then groans.

Nate is going to kill him; that paperwork was due _ten minutes ago_.

 

_Thursday, March 1, 1998 (Nate is 19)_

Nate walks up the four flights of stairs after his morning of classes. He debates starting on his Correspondence Paper, but he's fucking tired. He might just take a nap before meeting Brad at the Library.

Inside the apartment, he's surprised to find Ray watching TV. He immediately flicks it off when Nate enters.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were on base."

"No, next week." Ray shakes his head. "Nate,"

"What's wrong?" Nate asks, setting his bag down and looking over at Ray.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong."

Nate has never heard Ray apologize to anyone except Walt. Nate blinks at him in surprise and Ray sighs.

"I spent last night with Brad." Ray tells him. Nate sits down on the couch next to him.

"So did I."

"Yeah?" Ray laughs slightly. Nate doesn't think he's ever seen him so...still. "What did you do?"

"We went to a restaurant on Fifth, saw that new Deniro movie, and then we went back to his place."

"Just left the movie and went to his apartment?"

"Yes." Nate nods slowly.

"My evening was less cultural." Ray informs him. "Definitely more eventful, though. I came across your Library Boy in an alley, smashing Trombley into the sidewalk. Garza told me this morning that he has a broken nose, two fractured ribs, and five broken bones in his left hand. He also has a lot of soft-tissue damage and all-in-all forty-eight stitches. Oh, and he's gonna need a new front tooth." Nate doesn't feel too bad, though. Trombley is an ass, which they all know. Ray doesn't even seem that upset.

"Why was Brad kicking the shit out of Trombley?"

"It sounded like it might have been James's own fault. He likes to make comments...about gays. Brad was dressed like Little Miss Muffet."

"And?"

"Then we burglarized the Army-Navy surplus story."

" _And_?" Nate knows where this is going; he just wants Ray to get to it already.

"Then we went to Ann Sather's for dinner." Nate bursts into laughter and Ray smiles weakly. "He told me the same wacko story _you_ told me."

"And you believed him?"

"He's so fucking _nonchalant_!" Ray explodes exaggeratedly. "I could tell the he knew me, through and through, and he could tell me about Trombley and - He vanished and I _had_ to believe him!"

"He does that a lot." Nate nods sympathetically. "It's very impressive. I remember the first time I saw it; he was shaking my hand and then _poof_! Gone. When was he coming from?"

"2009." Ray rubs tiredly at his face. "He looked old."

"He goes through a lot." Nate nods. He's happy he can finally talk about this with someone; someone who _knows_.

"How do you handle that? I mean, he's totally unreliable and crazy-"

"I love him." Nate says simply. "He's my entire life and I've been _waiting_ for him my entire life. With Brad, I can see everything laid out; it's like a map of the past and future, everything all at once. I can reach into him and touch time itself. He loves me and we're married because we're a part of each other. It's the same way you know that you and Walt are gonna be together for the rest of your lives. It's already happened, all at once."

"I like him, Nate. I do." Ray nods. "I'm just worried about what this does to you."

"You're too late, Ray." He laughs. "You're talking about someone I've known since I was _six_. I _know_ him! You've met him twice and you're trying to protect me, which I appreciate, but I can't. I've seen my future and I can't change it, but I wouldn't _want_ to even if I could."

"He wouldn't tell me anything about the future." Ray looks close to pouting, which makes Nate laugh even harder.

"He cares about you, so he wouldn't do that to you."

"He did it to _you_."

"It couldn't be helped." Nate shrugs. "Our lives are all tangled together. My whole childhood was different because of him and there wasn't anything he could do. He did as best he could."

"Who?" Walt asks, stepping into the living room with some flour in his hair and a smear of strawberry frosting on his jaw.

"Hey, babe." Ray grins at him. Walt leans over the back of the couch and kisses Ray hello. Ray then grabs his face and licks the frosting off his jaw, causing Walt to flush and giggle, squirming out of his hold. Nate laughs.

"Who are we talking about?" Walt asks, settling in the armchair across from the couch.

"Brad." Ray tells him. "I'm telling him to run as far away as possible."

"Oh, hush," Walt throws a pillow at him. "Tell me! I want to be in the loop!" He looks at Nate with his puppy eyes. " _Nate!_ We're _brothers!_ "

"Can we?" Ray looks at Nate questioningly. He can't keep secrets from Walt. He just can't.

"You will anyways." Nate laughs and Ray turns to Walt, explaining everything he did with Brad that night. Walt looks confused, because he knows that Nate had a date with him the same night.

Walt doesn't believe them, of course, but Nate and Ray assure him: be patient. Eventually, as all magicians do, Brad is bound to appear somewhere.

 

_Friday, April 19, 1998 (Brad is 27 and 33)_

Brad is slipping the top button of his blue dress shirt through its respective hole when the intercom of his apartment rings. This is never a good sign.

He trudges over and clicks the button. "Hello?"

"Hey, let me in."

Brad sighs and unlocks the door for himself. He opens it and leans against the frame, waiting, holding his bathrobe in his hands. He sees himself step onto his floor and walk towards him. He's unshaven and his hair is a little longer than Brad usually wears it.

Brad ushers him inside and hands him the robe before closing the door. This Brad looks him over tiredly.

"How goes it?" Brad asks himself.

"So-so. What's the date?"

"April 19, 1998. Friday."

"Oh... _Limp Biskit_ concert tonight, right?"

"Yeah."

He laughs at Brad. "What a night _that_ was." He climbs into Brad's bed and tugs the covers around himself. Brad sits down beside him.

"Hey." No response. "When are you from?"

"November, 2003. I was just on my way to bed, so let me sleep or you're gonna be sorry in a few years."

"Whatever." Brad rolls his eyes and goes to pull on some jeans when he stops and looks at himself in the mirror. He was planning on bringing Nate back to the apartment, but what if his older self is still here? Although, perhaps Nate would like this version better. He knows Nate better than Brad does now.

Brad sighs at this thought. He needs to leave.

 

Nate is having a great time. Brad seems to have relaxed from whatever was making him tense at the beginning of the concert. Ray and Walt are making out against the bar wall, and Nate is content with his life.

"Hey, I'm going to run to the bathroom."

"Don't fall in." Brad teases, kissing him before Nate walks to the back of the bar. It's quieter in the back hallway, muted. He's looking at his feet when he runs into someone. He blinks up at the woman he's hit only to find her staring at him in horror.

"Fuck." The girl says, starting to cry. Nate doesn't understand what he's done other than bump her, but before he can say anything, a dark skinned woman comes up behind the girl and starts rubbing her back, glaring up at Nate.

"I just-"

"You're Nate Fick, right?" The girl asks angrily.

"Yes?"

"I _hate_ you!" The other girl, blonde and beautiful, tells him. "God, if you hadn't come along, I would be here with him!"

"I don't understand-"

"Brad." The black woman states. "She's talking about Brad. You moved in on unavailable territory."

"I...what?"

"I'm going to be sick." The blonde says, darting back inside the bathroom, leaving Nate with the black woman.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Julia and Brad were going to get married." She drops this information like a bomb going off in Nate's stomach. "She had a moment of misguidance and slept with his friend, he breaks it off, and here she is, all alone. Fuck you. There's no way you didn't know. She'd barely left the apartment before you jumped on him!"

"I've never even _met_ you or Julia." Nate defends himself. "What the fuck do I have to do with anything?"

"Julia and Brad were engaged, they fought, but it was still going to happen. You ruined it. I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into. You screw up, Brad will cut you from his life just like that."

"I don't think cheating-"

"Fuck you. I gotta go find Julia."

 

Nate steps out of the bar for some fresh air and jumps when he hears, "There you are!"

Brad is standing in the alley, but his hair is a little longer than it was before and he's sporting a five o'clock shadow. Nate gasps in utter relief and flings himself into Brad's arms.

"I've missed you _so much_." Nate says, breathing deeply and he realizes belatedly that he's crying.

"Nate, you've been with me _nonstop_ for weeks." Brad laughs, petting his hair. Nate shakes his head.

"I know but - you're not _you_ , yet - You're different."

"Nate, I need you to look at me." Brad watches him closely as Nate wipes the tears off his face. He meets Brad's steady gaze slowly.

"I didn't know you existed, Nate. Okay? I thought I was happy with Julia until she cheated on me, I was hurt. The truth is, yes, I probably would have forgiven her eventually, but I didn't because I met _you_ , and realized that I hadn't ever loved Julia. You, Nate, it was only ever you. Even before I knew you, I knew you were it."

"She said-"

"Who?"

"The black woman. She was kind of short, big brown eyes-"

"Jesus," Brad groans. "Gabrielle Union. She despises me because she thinks I absolutely ruined Julia's life by constantly disappearing when she needed me and that's why Julia needed to find love elsewhere. It didn't work out with Scott, though. So Julia thinks she's still in love with me and gets into drinking and drugs."

"She said you were going to marry Julia."

"I was never engaged to Julia. We dated for a long time, yes. But that was before I met you, Nate. Please understand that. _I hadn't met you yet_. Very few people meet their soulmates at age six. I was passing the time until I found mine. Julia was so patient, willing to put up with my constant disappearing."

"Did she know?"

"No." Brad shakes his head. "And that was just one of the many reasons it wouldn't have worked out. I couldn't ever be honest with her because I knew she would always want what I couldn't give her. Does this all make sense?"

"Sort of." Nate shrugs helplessly, looking small and lost.

"Nate, you're ignorant about how most relationships work in this world. It's adorable, really. One of the things I love about you. When we first met, I was an absolute wreck over mine and Julia's breakup, but I was also stupid and selfish. I was Brad Colbert, the guy who doesn't care about anyone, doesn't let anyone close. But you change everything, Nate. I can see you as a human being and I want to be one, too. I'm trying to do it without you noticing, because I know that you like this version," he waves to himself. "More than you like me, in 1998. At this stage, I haven't yet realized that all pretense is useless between you and me.

"I promise, Nate, that soon 1998 me will turn into 2003 me, but you need to work at it. I can't get here alone."

"It's so hard, Brad." Nate whispers. "I'm not used to being the teacher."

"Well, whenever you feel discouraged, remember all the hours I spent and _am spending_ with your tiny self. New math and botany, spelling and American history. I mean, you can say nasty things to me in French because I sat there and drilled them into you."

"It's easier to teach French than teach someone how to be happy." Nate replies.

"You _make_ me happy, Nate. It's living up to being happy that's the difficult part." He's caressing Nate's arm at this point, and playing with the hem of Nate's shirt. He looks so focused, so clear. Nate can't wait for his Brad to become this Brad.

"Now, Nathaniel, I'm going to return you to the idiot Brad waiting in the bar that you came here with tonight. I'm sitting upstairs right now, depressed and thinking that you've left."

Nate realizes with horror that he's forgotten all about the present Brad in favor of his future Brad. He feels absolutely ashamed. He doesn't know the Brad he's left in the bar, yet he felt he could judge him so harshly.

"Everything works out, Nate. You know that. So, you have to be patient a little longer. Isn't it worth it?" Brad kisses him and then pushes him back inside the bar where Nate rushes to find the Brad of here and now. As he runs, he's filled with a new sense of purpose and energy. He can't wait to discover future Brad together.

 


	5. That's Christmas To Me

****

_Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, December 24, 1998 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

At four in the morning, Nate and Brad are on a plane to go to Maryland for Christmas. Brad is happy and relaxed, glad to have talked Nate out of driving. He'd probably have been less afraid if he could drive them, but Brad doesn't have his license.

Being stuck on a plane, however, makes Brad anxious, Nate finds out. He realizes that the reason Brad is a basket case is because he needs an incredible amount of physical activity all the time in order to be happy.

It's so different being with Brad in real time. Growing up, Brad had come and gone meaning their encounters had been dramatic and slightly unsettling. Brad would never tell him things which always left Nate feeling unsatisfied and afraid. When Nate finally met him, he'd expected that feeling to return.

However, it is so much better in real time. Where Brad had always been careful about touching him when he was younger, Brad is now constantly touching him, kissing him, making love to him. Brad craves constant physical affection from Nate, which he's all too willing to give. Nate feels different just being with him, he feels bathed in a warm pool of desire and he feels happiness like he's never known; Brad wants him, here, now.

Not only that, but Brad _tells him things_. Anything! They've talked about Brad's family (both past and present), his life, he tells Nate names and places and dates. Everything that was once a clouded mystery is now laid out clearly for Nate to see.

But best of all, Brad isn't there one second, gone the next. Hours upon hours of Brad's presence. Nate knows where to find him when he wants him. He's working or he's home. Sometimes, Nate opens his address book just to look at the entry: _Brad Colbert, 2831 Dearborn, Apt 3D, Palo Alto, CA 39992, 302-666-0671._ An address, phone number, Nate can _call him on the phone_.

Nate feels like Dorothy when she crash landed in Oz. The world has finally flipped from black and white to color.

The plane touches down in Baltimore and they grab their luggage. They go into this tiny little market thing in the airport to find food and pee. Brad starts flipping through different brochures while Nate scours the next aisle for candy. He hears Brad call to him,

"Hey! Let's go to Frankenmuth! 'Christmas 365 Days a Year!' Dear god, I think I'd commit suicide after an _hour_. Do you have any change?"

"Yeah," Nate turns the corner to Brad's aisle, digging in his pocket. They split what little change he has on two Cokes, a bag of toffee beans, and a Hershey bar. They then go over to check-in for their rental car. While they wait, Brad opens his Hershey bar and takes a bite.

"Mm," he smiles happily. "Who says 8:35 is too early for chocolate?"

"It's 11:35." Nate corrects him.

"Fuck time zones." Brad replies, taking another bite.

"I can't believe you're actually meeting my family."

"I've already met Walt."

"Brad, you don't even realize how much time I spent _hiding_ you from my family. And Walt is nothing compared to my mother. But even worse, _Dick and Nixon_."

"Only because I adore you beyond reason did I agree to this." Brad informs him. " _I_ have spent a lot of time _avoiding_ long trips, meeting anyone's parents, and _Christmas_. The fact that I am enduring all three proves that I love you."

"Brad-" Nate turns and is suddenly lip locked with Brad. He giggles and slides his hand around Brad's neck. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see two girls, a boy, and a dog all staring at them with interest. Nate pulls away slightly, blushing, and Brad turns to see what he's looking at. The boy is gaping at them but the two girls give them thumbs up before scampering away. Brad laughs before turning back to Nate.

"What are the sleeping arrangements?"

"Dick called yesterday about that. I am in my old room and _you_ are in the guest room, my mother and Walt and Ray in between us."

"How committed are we to _maintaining_ this?" Brad raises an eyebrow.

"I've never done this before." Nate shrugs. "Walt and Ray get a free pass because they're married, but I don't think Dick would look kindly on us saying we _will_ get married."

"Dick and Nixon probably still do it." Brad comments idly. "I will bet you my entire life's savings."

"All thirty-two dollars of it?" It's Nate's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I hate you." Brad mock-glares at him.

"If all else fails, I'll just take you down to the Reading Room. I always used to hide you there."

"This doesn't seem too bad." Brad admits. "Though, I never want to fly again. Once is enough."

"Brad-"

"I do _not_ want to see what happens if I were to time travel. I don't have the slightest clue if I could get back on a flying object going three hundred and fifty miles an hour. I'd probably end up falling out of the sky a la Icarus."

"You did just fine."

"Let's not push our luck."

"Paris, Cairo, London, Kyoto-"

"Not a chance."

"Seriously?"

"I'm not going to find out, Nathaniel!"

A man finally approaches them with the key to their rental. They load their bags into the back of the small Honda Civic and then crawl into the front. Nate pulls onto the highway and asks, "Could you get there by time travel?"

"Well, okay, here's my theory. Now, keep in mind this is a Special Theory of Time Travel as Performed by Brad Colbert, and not a General Theory of Time Travel."

"Okay," Nate nods seriously.

"First of all, I think it's a brain thing. I think it's a lot like epilepsy, because it tends to happen when I'm stressed and there are physical cues that trigger it like drinking and flashing lights. Running, sex, and meditation tend to keep me in the present, too. Second, I have absolutely no conscious control over where I end up or when, how long I stay, or when I come back. So, time travel tours of the Riviera are _very_ unlikely. Having said that, my subconscious seems to exert tremendous control, because I spend a lot of time in my _own_ past, visiting events that are interesting or important, and I will spend great amounts of time visiting you, which I am looking forward to." Nate grins happily. "I tend to go places I've already been in real time, although I do find myself in other, more random times and places. I tend to go to the past, rather than the future."

"You've gone to the future?" Nate stares over at him. "I didn't know you could do that!"

Brad looks smug. "So far, my range is about fifty years in either direction. But, I rarely go to the future and I don't think I've ever seen anything useful. Maybe I just don't know what I'm looking at. In the past I just feel more solid. Maybe because the future is less substantial? I don't know. In the future I always feel like the air is thinner which is how I know it's the future. It just _feels_ different. It's harder to run, there."

"That's why your feet-"

"Are like leather, yeah." Brad nods. "I can't take shoes, remember?"

When Nate pulls down their familiar driveway a few hours later, he reaches over to shake Brad who had long-since fallen asleep. Brad blinks at him and then looks out the window just in time for Nate's house to come into view.

"Jesus," Brad laughs, startled. "I didn't realize it was this big!"

Dick is waving from the front porch. His hair is white, tinted pink. He looks so happy, and as Nate pulls to a stop, Nixon joins him. Their hands intertwine without either looking at each other. Nate knows the feeling.

Dick carefully walks down the steps to greet them as Nate and Brad get out of the car. Nate hurries over and wraps him in a tight hug. This man, more his father than his _real_ father, is probably his favorite person in the world after Brad and Walt.

"And who is this, now?" Dick asks, looking over at Brad with an easy smile. Nixon pulls Nate into a hug as Brad reaches out his hand for Dick to shake.

"Brad, this is Dick. Dick Winters, this is Brad Colbert."

"It's very nice to meet you." Dick tells him warmly. Brad looks excited to be meeting him, which Nate takes great pleasure in. Nixon reaches forward and shakes his hand.

"Lewis Nixon," he says with lazy grin, one born of many years of drinking and happy times. However, as Brad looks closer, he can see that Nixon is uncomfortable in his presence. He wonders where they've met before. For him to stare at Brad like this, they have to have met previously.

"It's very nice to meet you both." Brad says sincerely. Nixon follows Brad to grab the luggage as Dick tugs Nate inside.

"Where is everyone?" Nate asks.

"Nate!" Walt grins down at him from the top of the stairs and slides down the banister.

"Hey," Nate hugs him just as Nixon and Brad step inside. "Where's mom?"

"Upstairs." Walt says. "She'll be done in a minute. Hey, Brad."

"Hello, Walt. Where's Ray?"

"He had to take a later flight." Walt replies. "Marine's make do and all that jazz."

"Well, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes." Nixon says, stepping around them and going into the kitchen. Dick offers them all some coffee, which everyone gladly accepts. Walt smiles up at Brad.

"Welcome to the lion's den." He says cheerfully. Nate takes great enjoyment from the terrified look that crosses Brad's face.

 

The dining room is this large open area with a long table and beautifully carved wooden chairs. There is a spread of tons of food and everyone is already seated by the time Nate has finished giving him a tour of the house.

Brad ignores the look of pleasure on Nate's face when he finds out that there is a seating assignment. Brad is seated on one side between Ray and Nate's Uncle Harry. Ray's seat is empty, as he won't be there until late. Across from him is Nate, seated between Walt and Nate's Aunt Kitty, Harry's wife. Nate's mother, Jane, is seated at the head, looking tired but beautiful in a blue, floor-length dress with small white flowers. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her hair into a bun and she is very thin.

"This is my mother." Nate introduces Brad. Jane stands and shakes his head.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Fick."

"Please, call me Jane." She replies warmly. "Everyone does."

He and Nate take their seats and immediately Nixon is there, spooning soup into his bowl. Throughout the meal, Brad finds out that Harry is Jane's brother. His red hair curls endearingly around his ears and he smiles at Kitty like his own personal Jesus.

As they eat, Brad begins adding and subtracting in his mind his location and remembers that their house is close to David Webster's home. Brad mentions this and Jane perks up.

"Do you know him?"

"Yeah, my mother worked for him."

"Oh," Jane nods slowly. "Maid service?"

"She was his publisher."

"She...your mother was a publisher for Harvard?"

"Yes," Brad nods again.

"How wonderful! David has such a nice home. His husband Joseph is a little out there, but I suppose to each their own. Does your mother see him often?"

"No." Brad hesitates and Nate's face flushes with dread. "My mother died a long time ago."

The room is silent for a little while. Dick and Nixon, who have taken their seats at the table after serving everyone else, share a look.

"Oh, dear, I'm so very sorry."

"It's okay."

They lapse into another silence that lasts forever. Eventually, Nixon clears his throat and stands. "Anyone for coffee?"

Gratefully, everyone says yes, hoping coffee will move the conversation into safer territory. Afterwards, everyone seems to wander into their own corner of the house and Nate leads Brad outside to the Meadow.

"This is it." Nate says, looking nervous. Brad looks around at the snow covered with deer tracks and droppings.

"This is it." Brad says simply. Nate bites his lip.

"Do you ever have Deja vu?"

"My whole _life_ is one long Deja vu." Brad says with a sigh. Nate laughs and links their fingers together, staring out at the space where his life began and where Brad will soon discover.

 

Nate had warned Brad that Christmas Eve in the Fick household was a formal affair. Ten minutes until dinner at seven, Brad is dressed in a red, button-up shirt and dark slacks, his black dress shoes looking freshly polished.

Nate is wearing a navy blue sweater and tan pants and he leans up on his tip toes to press a kiss to the corner of Brad's mouth before they descend the steps. They get to the bottom just as the door is swinging open and Ray is stepping inside, dressed in his dress blue pants with the red stripe and a short sleeved tan dress shirt, a tan tie tucked into the top of his shirt firmly.

"Hey, Ray." Brad shakes his hand and Nate hugs him.

"Hello, Library Boy." Ray grins. "Where is-"

"Ray!" Walt bounces down the stairs and throws himself at Ray, who spins him around happily.

"Best welcome a man could ask for from his mistress." Ray comments. Walt smacks him half-heartedly in the chest just as Harry and Kitty come down the stairs. Harry and Ray salute each other and Kitty kisses Ray's cheek.

"Are we all standing in the entry way or are we eating?" Dick asks, appearing down the hallway. They all laugh and go into the dining room where Brad is assaulted by even more food than there was at lunch.

"You shined your shoes, Bradley." Ray comments out of the corner of his mouth when they sit down. "Trying to get all the Catholic girls to drop to their knees?"

"You clean up nicely for trailer trash." Brad shoots back, a smile lighting up his face as Ray winks at him.

"Catholic Daddies, beware."

Across the table, Walt leans close to Nate. "Mama's been drinking." He says quietly. "She's a little messed up."

"When _isn't_ she?" Nate sighs sadly.

 

On their way to Christmas Eve Mass, Brad has to ask.

"Nate, what's wrong with your mom?"

"She's manic-depressive."

"Has she always been?"

"It was a lot better when I was younger. She had another baby when Walt and I were about seven, and it was bad. She tried to kill herself in the bathtub." Nate says it monotonously, but he remembers all the blood - everywhere, in the water, on the white towels, the linoleum floor. Nate had screamed for help repeatedly, but there wasn't anyone home. "And then, when dad died, she tried it again. She's been out of rehab for three months now. Dick and Nixon take care of her, and Harry is here as often as he can be, but he and Kitty have their own kids to take care of."

"Nate," Brad says quietly as Nate grips the steering wheel tightly.

"What?"

"Why didn't you tell me? That's a lot and I think it would've been good to know ahead of time, to know all about-"

"You knew." Nate sighs. "I mean, you will. I told you when it happened. Sorry, I have a hard time remembering what I've told you and what I tell your later self. It's just very-"

"It's okay, Nate." Brad squeezes Nate's hand. "I've sort of aired out my dirty family laundry. I was just surprised...I didn't know."

"I've never met Jennifer or Todd."

"No, you haven't." Brad agrees.

"Am I ever going to?"

"Yes." Brad nods slowly. "I guess it was never important. I love what they did for me...but it isn't a happy fairytale where we become this whole new family who understands each other. I was pretty much a disappointment of an orphan."

"You aren't a disappointment, Brad." Nate shakes his head.

At the church, Brad excuses himself to go to the bathroom and Ray is accosted by some young guys, asking about the military. Walt motions for Nate to follow him away from the others.

"I've met him. Before, I mean. Brad. I've met him."

 _What?_ "What?"

"When we were about twelve, I was supposed to be practicing piano before this audition dad wanted me to do, but I realized I didn't have a clean shirt. So, I went downstairs to the laundry room and I heard this noise from the Reading Room. I thought maybe it was Dick or Stella, so I went to go find them but when I opened the door, Brad was in there, butt-naked."

"Oh my god," Nate laughs helplessly and Walt joins him.

"I swear, I was so freaked out. I can't believe I didn't see it when he came to dinner the other night, or even when you and Ray told me about the...you know. But as soon as you guys came into the house, I realized that it was _him_. He was like forty then, but he's...what? Twenty-eight?"

"You believe us now?" Nate asks.

"I mean, I didn't _not_ believe you before...but, yeah, I really, _really_ do."

"Hey," Brad slides in beside them and frowns when Walt's face gets bright red.

"Ooh, Walt is blushing!" Ray says loudly, joining them. "Someone please tell me what I missed!"

"Fuck," Brad breathes suddenly, rubbing at his face.

"Seriously!" Nate stares at him. " _Now_?"

"It's not like I can control it, Nate!"

"Jeez, okay, come on." Nate drags him towards the bathroom, Walt and Ray staring worriedly at them, when Father Lyons calls everyone to their seats.

"Go," Brad shoves him away and runs for the bathroom, Nate stumbling back towards Walt and Ray.

"He'll be back, right?" Ray asks.

"I sure hope so."

 

Brad appears on his apartment floor with a crash.

"Fuck!" He shouts angrily. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was three days, he could do that! He'd _thought_ he could do that.

"Hey,"

Brad looks up to see himself looking down from his bed.

"What's the date?"

"December 28, 1998." Four days from where he's from.

"Seriously? Why _now_."

"Don't worry." He chuckles. "You'll be back in a few minutes and nobody will notice. You'll be fine the rest of the visit."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, now can you stop making so much noise? I'm trying to fucking sleep."

"Ugh, why do I-" he suddenly heaves up dinner onto his apartment floor and then he's disappearing. In four days, he'll clean up the vomit.

 

Brad appears just as communion is ending. He looks pale, but he's still walking. Before Nate can ask if he's okay, he's intercepted by Mike and Evan.

"We've met before." Mike says when Nate introduces them. Brad looks alarmed, but Mike just smirks.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mike." Brad says, shaking his hand anyways. "And you, Evan."

That night, Nate is dozing when his door creaks open and Brad slides into his bed.

"We're gonna get caught." Nate mumbles, moving to give him more room.

"It was cold in my room." Brad replies, wrapping his arm around Nate's middle and pulling him to Brad's chest.

"Oh," Nate sighs sleepily. "Are you wearing socks?"

"Yes."

"Where did you go? When you left the church, I mean."

"My apartment. For about five minutes, four days from now."

"Why?"

"Tired and tense, I suppose." Brad shrugs slightly.

"No, I meant, why _there_?"

"I don't know. Sort of a default mechanism. The time travel air traffic controllers thought I would look good there, I think."

"Merry Christmas, Brad." Nate says, turning in his lover's arms and kissing him gently.

"Merry Christmas, Nate."

 

Nate wakes up to the sound of Nixon in the kitchen downstairs. There's someone speaking, and coffee cups are clinking. Nate turns to find Brad still deep asleep, and he slowly crawls out from under his long limbs.

Nate throws a sweatshirt on over his boxer shorts and shuffles out of his room. Walt is doing the same two doors down.

"Good morning. Merry Christmas!" Walt greets him. A second later, a sleepy looking Ray appears behind him, latching onto Walt's form and making his husband practically drag him down the stairs. Nate watches fondly before going into the bathroom.

When he steps back into the hallway, he practically runs into his mother. She has dark circles under her eyes and she's wearing Nate's father's old red robe, but she smiles softly.

"Good morning, sweetheart." She greets him.

"Merry Christmas, Ma."

"Merry Christmas, dear." She kisses his cheek then goes downstairs. Nate goes back to his room to wake Brad only to find Dick in the room, making the bed. He raises an eyebrow at the twin indents on the pillows, but doesn't say anything. When he's finished, he wishes Nate a Merry Christmas and then disappears to go make up his mother's bed. After a moment, Brad slides out from under the bed.

"You were under the bed?" Nate asks incredulously.

"Yeah," Brad nods, standing up and pulling on a pair of Nate's sweatpants.

"The whole time he was in here?"

"Yeah." Brad repeats, like it's obvious. This strikes Nate as hilarious, which causes him to break into giggles. Brad's whole face lights up as he, too, begins to laugh. They make it downstairs a little while later, trying to shush each other and shaking with laughter.

Christmas Day is rather calm and peaceful. Breakfast is a family affair that is filled with laughter and jokes; it's the type of Christmas Brad always longed for with Jennifer and Todd. A little before lunch, Nate grabs Brad's hand and tugs him towards the door where Walt and Ray are pulling on their coats.

"We're going to Mike's!" Nate tells him.

Mike's house is filled with noise when they step inside. Evan and John are drinking beers, matching wedding bands on their fingers. It's their first married Christmas. Mike's wife, Riley, is putting together sandwiches for lunch, their two kids running around playing with their Christmas toys.

Lena Basilone is laughing with Francis Burgin, though she is subdued. Nate finds out that Johnny was killed in action a few months earlier. Burgie is sitting with Hoosier Smith in the living room, reminiscing of high school while Burgie's son, Andrew, is crawling around on the carpeted floor.

"Do not, under any circumstances, leave me alone to fend for myself." Brad whispers in Nate's ear as they enter.

"So, _Brad_." Mike grins over at him. "We hear you work in a library. But you don't _look_ like a librarian."

"Actually, I'm a Calvin Klein underwear model, but we don't like to advertise it too loudly." Brad comments, causing Evan to snort into his drink.

"Okay, Nate." Mike looks over at his friend. "He can stay."

"That's a relief. I already lost the receipt." Nate shoots back.

"It's so weird that your name is Brad." Evan comments.

"Why's that?"

Evan tells him about Mike's birthday party and the Ouija Board. Brad looks surprised and Nate flushes.

" _Really_?"

As everyone begins grabbing for food, Mike tugs Nate away from the group.

"Okay, fess up." He says in his gravelly voice. "You just stood out there and told a whole stack of lies. I _have_ met Brad before, so you've known him for years!"

"You're right." Nate sighs. "I've known him for years."

"How long?"

"Since I was six."

"Then why...how come...How long have you been _dating_ him?"

"I don't really know. I mean, there was a period of time when things were sort of on the verge, but nothing was exactly going on, you know; that is, Brad was pretty adamant that he wasn't going to mess around with a little kid. I was just kind of hopelessly nuts about him-"

"But, how come we never knew about him?" Mike asks. "I don't see why it had to be a secret. You could have told me or Walt!"

"You kind of already knew." Nate shrugs helplessly.

"That's not the same thing as you telling me." Mike glares at him.

"I know. I'm sorry. He's eight years older than me and-"

"So what?"

" _So_ , when I was twelve and he was twenty that was a problem!" _Not to mention that when I was six, he was_ forty _._

"Look, I can see you not wanting your _parents_ to know, but I still don't understand why you couldn't inform the rest of us. I mean, we were all really worried that there was something drastically wrong and the whole time you were fucking a librarian-"

"I was _not_ fucking him the whole time!" Nate's cheeks are bright red.

"Yeah, right."

"I'm serious! We waited until I was eighteen. My birthday."

"Jesus," Mike rolls his eyes and they return to the party.

"Nate!" Brad calls. Nate turns and sees him and Ray smiling widely. Mike's younger brother, Kent, is standing in the living room, wearing an Army T-shirt.

"Give 'im hell!" Mike shouts. He, too, was a Marine. Kent sighs and sits down on the couch, getting ready for the reckoning.

On the drive back to Nate's parents' house, Nate comments, "You're very quiet."

"I'm just thinking about Kent."

"What about him?"

"I was trying to figure out what would cause him to latch onto the military like that."

"You mean the Army?"

"The Army isn't horrible, Brad." Nate rolls his eyes playfully. "I mean, I know you always dreamed about the Marines, but-"

"Boys used to lie about their ages to get into the military, to fight for what they believed in. The Army has become the easy way out. He didn't join the Special Forces or the rangers; he joined a regular unit that complains about boot camp when they haven't even seen the worst. What happened to boys wanting to join the SEALs or the Recon Marines like Ray and Mike, or the Airborne or-"

"Brad, we aren't exactly in the middle of something that requires boys to man-up."

"Why don't they want to push themselves anymore, though? I mean, of the people who even attempt the harder units, only about a third make it all the way through. Why aren't we tough or ambitious anymore?"

"I don't know, Brad." Nate shrugs. "I'm sorry you couldn't find out for yourself."

They're quiet a long time and then Nate asks, "If you could stop, right now...if you could stop time travelling without any consequences, would you?"

"If I could stop now and still meet you?"

"You've already met me."

"Yeah, I would stop." He glances at Nate in the dark of the car.

"It would be sort of funny." Nate comments. "I would have all these memories that you would never get to share. It would be like being with someone with amnesia. To be honest, it's how I've been feeling since we got here."

Brad laughs. "In the future you can watch me lurch around each memory until I've got the complete set."

"I guess so." Nate smiles, pulling into the driveway. "Home sweet home."

They get out of the car and rush inside out of the cold. Ray and Walt went drinking with Evan and John and Dick, Nixon, and Nate's mom have all gone to bed. Kitty and Harry left a few hours earlier, so the house is silent.

Brad and Nate prepare for bed separately and then Brad crawls quietly into Nate's bed when the lights have been turned out.

"I wouldn't want you to miss it." Nate whispers in the dark, turning to stare at Brad.

"Miss what?"

"All the things that happened when I was a kid. I mean, so far they have only halfway happened because you haven't got there yet. I feel like they won't be real until you've experienced them, too."

"I'm getting there." Brad promises, running his fingers across Nate's bare chest.

"Your hands are cold." Nate huffs, squirming under Brad's touch. Brad scoots closer and kisses him deeply. Nate sighs into his mouth and moves to straddle him. Brad's hands play with the waistband of his boxers before he slides them slowly off of him.

As they move, Brad can't help but think that he wishes he were in his apartment and in his own bed. _Home sweet home_ , he thinks to himself. The thought then changes to _Home is where your heart is._ But his heart is totally tangled with the boy next to him, snoring softly into his pillow after the come-down of good sex. Nate turns slightly and his face is in perfect view of Brad. _Home sweet home,_ Brad thinks once more. _Hi, honey, I'm home._

*

In the morning, Nate slides silently into his mother's room. He and Brad are ready to leave; the only thing left is a goodbye to Jane.

"Is it that time already?" Jane blinks at him from her small desk. "I thought you were staying for lunch."

"What are you working on, Mama?" Nate asks, looking at the papers strewn across her desk with her looping handwriting all over them.

"Nothing. Just a poem about the garden under the snow. It isn't really coming out how I'd like. Funny how poems are never as nice as the real garden. My poems, anyways."

Nate can't comment on this, though, because his mother has never shown him her writing. "Well, the garden is beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as when Stella was here."

Nate, again, doesn't comment. Stella is rarely mentioned in the house anymore.

"I love you." Nate kisses her cheek. "I love you."

"Bye, dear." She waves to him as he leaves before turning back to her writing. Nate can't shake the feeling that she hadn't really noticed him at all.

 

On the plane, Brad is less fidgety. He's relaxed and tired, so he doesn't think he'll travel anytime soon. He can see Nate is deep in thought; there's a wrinkle in his forehead from concentration.

"That wasn't so bad." He tells him. Nate doesn't reply and when Brad looks back at him, Nate is crying. It's a quiet sort of crying, the kind formed from deep sadness and isolation. Brad hasn't ever seen him cry before. "Jesus, _Nate_. I didn't...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fuck up - Did I fuck it up somehow? What happened?"

"It's not you." Nate shakes his head, sniffing. He doesn't add anything.

"What happened, Nate?" He shakes his head and Brad rubs his back gently. Nate turns into his arms, made awkward from the arm rest of the plane seat.

"Was it bad?" Nate suddenly asks, pulling away. "My family? Are they - Did they seem-"

"They were fine, Nate. I had fun. I mean, I already like Walt and Ray. Harry and Nixon were sort of intimidating, but-"

"Sometimes, I just want to drown everyone in a lake."

"I'm sure that's a natural reaction from anyone when spending a lot of time in their family's company. Has Nixon ever seen me before?"

"I saw you with my dad and Nixon. And Walt walked in on your naked in the basement when he was twelve."

"That's comforting." Brad comments sarcastically.

Nate pulls away as the plane begins taking off, and Brad feels his throat closing. Hours later, after Nate has dropped him off his own apartment, he realizes that he's _lonely_. He also realizes that Christmas is officially over.

 


	6. These Problems We Can't Fix

****

_Saturday, January 5, 1999 (Brad is 28)_

It takes Brad a little more than an hour to get to Jennifer and Todd's house in San Francisco. He can't really remember the last time he'd visited, and the last time they'd spoken over the phone was a month before, awkward conversation filled with long silences.

He takes a deep breath before rapping on the door, shuffling slightly under the cool January air. A moment later, the door swings open to reveal Jennifer Landry. Her blonde hair is getting streaks of grey and it's pulled into a ponytail. Her dark eyes are framed by dark glasses. She smiles at him and Brad offers a small one back.

"Brad," she says. "I didn't know we were expecting you!"

"Oh, well, you weren't." Brad shrugs uncomfortably. "I just...I needed to talk to you."

"Well, come in, dear." She waves him inside and Brad kicks off his shoes at the door. Jennifer goes into the kitchen while Brad steps into the living room. His graduation photo is hanging on the wall, as well as a picture from Todd and Jennifer's wedding. On the other side of the room is a picture of them with five-year-old Brad, when they'd first adopted him. They were thrilled, _finally_ , a son of their own.

Brad wishes he'd been less of a disappointment for them.

Jennifer brings him a glass of iced tea, unsweetened. Brad takes a sip and finds that she's added a small amount of sugar to his, just the way he likes it.

"Todd!" She calls out. A minute later, Todd comes into the living room. His hair is still dark black, his blue eyes bright and sharp. Brad stands up and they shake hands. Todd smiles at him, looking between him and his wife.

"What's the occasion?"

"Brad came to talk to us about something." Jennifer replies. They all take their seats. Brad isn't sure how to do this. Luckily, Jennifer takes the lead.

"So, have you been...time traveling lately?" They both knew, of course, but it was always sort of a taboo subject. Brad remembers the awkward conversation of explaining why he suddenly showed up naked in the living room during the eleven o'clock news.

"No, actually. I haven't been anywhere in months, which is great."

"You have anyone?" Todd asks. "Girlfriend?"

"Or boyfriend?" Jennifer adds quickly. Brad doesn't mind, though. Another taboo subject was Brad's sexuality. Not that he thought Jennifer and Todd minded him being bisexual; they were actually quite progressive. The problem was that by the time they'd gained this information, they weren't sure how _Brad_ wanted them to react. Brad knows that their divide is more his fault than theirs.

He smiles and Todd latches on immediately.

"What's their name? How come they aren't with you?"

"His name is Nate." Brad replies. "He has class right now, otherwise I probably would have."

"Class?" Jennifer asks.

"He's studying business and government at Berkley."

"That's wonderful!" Jennifer nods encouragingly. "You should definitely bring him around soon. We'd love to meet him."

"I will." Brad promises.

"When's the wedding?" Todd asks. Brad snorts. "I'm only asking!"

"We aren't engaged!"

"But you will be soon." Todd remarks. "I can see it in the way you talk about him."

Brad feels his ears turn a little red. "Well, that's actually what I came to talk to you about." He takes a deep breath. "I know that when my parents died, you guys received a lot of the things that weren't sold. I was wondering if you had my parent's wedding rings."

"Of course!" Jennifer exclaims. "I'm sure they're up in the attic. I'll go look now." She stands and exits, leaving Brad and Todd.

"He's going to say yes?" Todd asks.

"I sure hope so. I'm about ninety-nine percent sure he will."

They talk a little about the weather and then Jennifer comes back with a small, red, velvet box. "I found them. A little dusty, but no worse for wear."

Brad clicks the box open and inside is his mother and father's ring, nestled together. He lifts up his father's ring and studies it before lifting out his mothers. They're perfect and whole, unlike his parents.

"I'm sure your parents would have loved Nate." Jennifer tells him softly. Brad nods, looking back at them.

"I know. I've seen them, you know."

Todd and Jennifer seem shocked by this.

"You have?"

"Yeah, many times. It's one of the perks of time travel. They aren't truly gone. I think that's why I was so distant from you guys. I couldn't move on because they were still there, always within reach. I'm really sorry I was never what you expected. I really do love and appreciate you guys, I hope you know."

"We know, dear." Jennifer nods, tears starting to trail down her cheeks. Todd rubs at her back soothingly and it's so much like Brad and Nate that it makes him smile.

"I'm going to bring Nate over sometime soon, okay? You'll love him."

"If you love him, we'll love him, too." Jennifer nods, standing up and moving towards him. She pulls him into a tight hug which Brad returns.

As he leaves, he realizes that all the years he wished for his own parents back, he should have seen it as something special. He got two sets of parents, both of which he could speak to about anything.

 

_Sunday, January 13, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

Nate wakes slowly, a fluttering of eyelashes and a streak of sunlight. He stretches gracefully and sighs, the smell of Brad surrounding him on the bed. He can hear Brad in the kitchen, swearing at the toaster.

He pushes himself out of bed and walks down the hall to the bathroom. He takes his time in the shower, rinsing his hair and scrubbing languidly at his body with Brad's body wash. Staring at himself in the steamy mirror, he thinks about cutting off some of his hair. It's long enough to curl around his ears, flopping slightly into his eyes. Brad's hair is buzzed, which must be nice. He knows Brad loves his curls, though, almost like an entire being of its own. Of course, Nate knows that Brad loves it as part of _Nate_ , but he also knows Brad would be terribly off-put if it disappeared.

Nate puts a little gel in it and smooths it away from his eyes and hears Brad singing off-key in the kitchen. He tucks a towel around his waist and pads out.

"Perfect timing!" Brad tells him. "Breakfast is ready."

"Okay, just let me get changed."

"You're fine just how you are." Brad says, coming over and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly.

"Breakfast will get cold." Nate mumbles.

"Bagels taste the same cold." Brad tells him, kissing his chin and cheek.

"Brad," Nate says, putting a hand on Brad's chest to stop him a moment. "Do other couples have as much sex as you and I do?"

Brad frowns. "I suppose not, no. Probably only if they haven't known each other very long and still can't quite believe their luck. Is it too much?" He looks worried and Nate laughs.

"I don't know, maybe." He shrugs, walking back into the bedroom and pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He walks back out to find Brad still looking concerned.

"I'm really sorry, Nate." He tells him. "I didn’t' realize; I wasn't thinking-"

"It's okay, Brad, really." He assures him.

"I'm still sorry." They sit down and both begin putting jam on their bagels. "I sometimes feel like if I can't touch you, you aren't real."

"I'm just tired." Nate laughs. "I mean, am I abnormal or something? Because you seem just fine."

"Well, Nathaniel, I'm going to tell you this; your sex drive far outweighs that of pretty much _everyone_ I've ever met. I mean, I think I just like sex. I'm surprised you haven't hit me yet."

"But how much is too much?" Nate questions, sipping at his coffee.

"For me? Oh, _god_ , my idea of a perfect life would be staying in bed for days and only leaving for bathroom breaks and food. I mean, we'll have to change the sheets sometimes, but-"

"Oh my god." Nate rolls his eyes.

"I'd also have to go running in the mornings."

"Wouldn't you already be getting enough exercise?"

Brad looks at him seriously. "Quite frequently, my life depends on running faster than whoever's chasing me."

"Oh, right." Nate swallows sideways and coughs a few times. Brad smacks his back and Nate nods in thanks when he can finally sip at his coffee again. "I wanted to ask you - How do I put this? - You never seem to go anywhere - I mean, that is, since I've met you, you haven't really time traveled at all."

"I did at Christmas. I did over Thanksgiving, too, but you were in Maryland then. I didn't tell you because it was kind of depressing."

"You were watching the accident?" Nate asks.

"Actually, I was." Brad nods, surprised. "How did you know that?"

"A few years ago you showed up in the Meadow on Christmas Eve and you mentioned it to me. You were really upset."

"Yeah," Brad nods slowly, taking a thoughtful bite of his bagel. "I remember being unhappy just seeing the date on that list of yours. I thought, wow, an extra special Christmas to get through. Plus, that was a bad one in regular time; I ended up getting my stomach pumped because of alcohol poisoning. I hope I didn't ruin _your_ Christmas."

"No...I was just happy to see you. Plus, you were telling me something important and personal, even though you were careful about names and places. You were telling me something about your personal life, your _real_ life, and I was just desperate for anything to prove you were actually real. That's why I was always touching you when you were around. With your little sex obsession, I'm surprised you kept so cool and calm under my heavy advances."

Brad laughs and stands up to grab the coffee pot. He refills his and Nate's glasses and then sits back down.

"Give me an example." Brad demands cheerfully. Nate blushes.

"Okay, there was one time when I was sixteen. This is the _worst_. I was waiting for you late one night around eleven and there was a new moon, so it was pretty dark in the clearing. I was kind of annoyed with you because you kept treating me like a child and I just - I was tired of being a _virgin_ \- And I got this idea to hide your clothes."

"Oh _really_?" Brad raises an eyebrow playfully.

"Yeah, I moved your clothes to a different spot..."

"And?"

"And you appeared and I basically teased you until you just couldn't take it."

" _And_?"

"And you jumped me and pinned me. For about thirty seconds we both thought, _This is it_. I mean, it wasn't like you would've been raping me, because I was definitely asking for it. But you got this look on your face and you said, 'No', and you got up and walked away. You walked back into the trees and I didn't see you again for three weeks."

"My older self seems like a much better man than I."

"I was so chastened by the whole thing that I made a _huge_ effort to behave myself for the next two years." Nate says.

"Thank god," Brad remarks. "I can't imagine having to exercise that much willpower on a regular basis."

"But you will, which is the amazing part. For a long time, I honestly thought you just weren't _attracted_ to me. Of course, if we were going to spend our whole lives in bed, I suppose you can exercise a little restraint on your piece of ass from the past."

"I feel so free with you, Nate." Brad says, suddenly very serious. "I feel very connected to you, which is huge, because I've never really connected with _anyone_."

"I know."

"I just - Being physically connected the way we are, I think it's kind of rewiring my brain. I think it holds me here, in the present." He reaches over and squeezes Nate's hand. "Come with me, I have something for you."

He tugs Nate back into the bedroom and they crawl onto the bed. Nate waits patiently as Brad pulls something out of a bottom drawer of his bedside table. It's a red box and suddenly, Nate's heart is beating double time.

"Nate?"

"Yes?" Nate's voice is soft and a little scared.

"You know that I love you." Brad says, watching him closely. "Will you marry me?"

Nate has an overwhelming sense of Deja vu. "Yes," he breathes. "Brad, _yes_. But you know, really...I already have."

 

_Saturday, January 19, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

They're running late, which isn't settling Nate's nerves in the slightest. They walk up the three steps to the front door and Brad knocks firmly on the sleek wooden door.

"Don't worry." He says, looking over at Nate. "They're going to love you."

"That's not why I'm nervous. I just - I know this is a huge deal for you."

"You're worth it." Brad flashes him a wide grin just as the door swings open. Nate takes in the woman who is beaming at them. Her hair is curled almost professionally; it's gold and white color shining in the afternoon sun. She's wearing a simple red dress and she looks excited.

"Hello!" She looks Nate over. "Oh, Brad, he's _gorgeous!"_ Brad blushes and Nate smiles over at her.

"This is Nate Fick. Nate, this is my mother, Jennifer." At the word 'mother', both Nate and Jennifer seem a little surprised. Nate pretends not to notice the way Jennifer's gaze suddenly seems a little misty as she looks up at Brad.

"It's very nice to meet you, darling." She greets Nate, pulling him into a hug.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Landry."

"Oh, please, call me Jennifer or Jen. You're going to be family!" She pulls him inside where they take off their shoes gingerly. Brad hugs Jennifer and Nate smiles to himself. He's glad to see Brad happy, finally.

"Hello, sweetheart." She murmurs to Brad as they embrace.

"I hear guests." A man turns the corner, dark hair gelled back and blue eyes looking both sharp and friendly.

"Dad, this is Nate. Nate, my father, Todd." Jennifer and Todd share a significant look. Nate is overjoyed for everyone.

"Hello, Nate." They shake hands.

"It's nice to meet you, sir."

"Come in, everyone. I'm just finishing up dinner, so please take your seats in the living room. I'll bring out some water."

Brad leads Nate to the living room with a hand on the small of his back. They sit on a loveseat together, Jennifer sitting in a chair across from them. Nate takes a small pleasure in the picture of Brad's graduation and the picture of his adoption. He was a cute, small child. His focus goes to a black ink painting of bamboo in the wind.

"That's a great painting." Nate comments. Jennifer follows his gaze.

"Oh, yes, Todd and I got it in Japan on our honeymoon. It's actually from China. It's a seventeenth-century copy of a much older painting."

"Tell Nate about the poem." Brad says.

"The poem goes something like this: _Bamboo without mind, yet sends thoughts soaring among clouds. Standing on the lone mountain, quiet, dignified, it typifies the will of a gentleman. Painted and written with a light heart_ , Wu Chen."

"That's wonderful."

Todd brings them their ice water and Nate rubs his thumb around the mouthpiece.

"Do you like gardens, Nate?"

"Yes, I do." Nate nods. "My mother has one in Maryland. We used to have a much bigger one when we had a professional caretaker. Her name was Stella."

"Well, come spring, you'll have to come see my peonies in full bloom."

"I'd love to."

"So, Nate, Brad tells us you're attending Berkley."

"That's right." Nate nods. "Business and government. I'm looking at DC."

"Brad, you make sure he keeps his head on straight." Todd comments. "Keep those Senators and such in line. I'd hate to deal with more scandals."

"I'll do my best, sir." Nate chuckles.

"The ring fits?" Jennifer asks.

"Yeah," Brad nods. "Pretty much a perfect match."

"Made for you," Jennifer smiles kindly at Nate. He doesn't know why, but it makes him want to cry. "You're a beautiful couple. I'm so excited for the wedding!"

"How did you two meet?" Todd asks.

"I was looking for some books in the library, where Brad works."

"I see,"

Brad shrugs. "Actually, that was when _I_ met _you_."

"What do you mean?" Jennifer frowns. Nate blushes.

"I, um - I met Brad when he was time travelling. I was six. I grew up knowing him."

"Really?" Todd looks surprised. Brad sighs.

"You remember how I tried to explain it by gravity? Nate's a huge factor in my life, so I guess I get attracted to him in time."

"Well, that settles it!" Jennifer cries. "Made for each other, I tell you!"

"How about supper?" Todd asks. They all stand and Brad links his fingers with Nate's.

"Great," Nate says. "I'm starved."

 

_Tuesday, February 20, 1999 (Nate is 20)_

Nate enters the dimly-lit bar and sits in a corner booth, away from other patrons. A waitress with dark red hair and bored eyes walks over to take his order. He orders the daily soup (Chicken and rice) and a Long Island Iced Tea.

Brad hadn't been at his apartment and he hadn't shown up for work. Nate tries not to worry, but he isn't fooling anyone. He's desperate to know that Brad is safe. Hell, maybe Brad is finally meeting _him_.

"Hi, Nate."

Nate looks up and there she is: Julia Thomas. Her blonde hair is knotted on top of her head, her eyes ringed with dark makeup, and her lips are painted a dark red. She's wearing a black dress that shows her long, smooth legs, but it shows even more of her breasts. She slides into the seat across from Nate, looking tired and uncomfortable.

"Hi, Julia." Nate replies, trying to smile as friendly and non-threatening as possible.

"So, you're engaged." Julia comments, her eyes narrowing at the band on his finger. "I can't tell if you're brave or crazy."

"I think I'm probably a mixture of both."

The waitress returns with his soup and drink. Julia asks for a cup of coffee which the woman leaves to go get.

"You know, right? You have to by now." Nate shrugs at her and sips at his drink. It's far too sweet and more water than alcohol.

"Do you know where he is right now?" Julia asks.

"No." Nate shakes his head.

"He's running down Broadway in his birthday suit with a pack of skinheads on his tail." _Uh oh._

"Really?" Nate raises an eyebrow, shoveling a piece of soup into his mouth.

"You don't seem surprised." Julia frowns. "If _my_ man were running around naked I would wonder a little bit."

"Yeah, well, Brad isn't exactly the most average person out there." Nate shrugs again.

"You can say that again." She remarks. Nate wonders how much Julia actually knows. "Are you really going to marry him?"

"If you'd like to come, you can see me do it yourself."

"Brad would _hate_ that."

"You don't seem fond of the idea, either." Nate shoots back.

"Well, I should be going. I have a date."

"That's okay." Nate shrugs. "I should work on this, anyways." He nods to a few books to his right, sitting on the table. Julia frowns at them.

" _Homework_? Are you even old enough to drink?"

"No." Nate smiles. "Luckily, the waitress is too bored to card me."

"I'll see you around, Nate." Julia says, pushing out of the booth and starting to walk away. She turns around at the door and looks back at him.

"I'm really sorry, Nate." She says before walking outside.

Nate tucks his books into his bag, drops some money onto the table, and rushes outside. He runs to his apartment at a full sprint and picks up the phone. Brad doesn't answer, he isn't home.

Nate turns out the lights, crawls into bed, and doesn't sleep.

 

_Sunday, June 12, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

Brad is sitting on the couch in Nate's apartment. Walt and Ray have boxes everywhere, ready to move into their new house on the outskirts of Palo Alto. Nate kicks a box on accident coming into the apartment, causing Brad to look over at him.

"Hey," he says.

"Hi." Nate sets his bag down and moves towards the couch to see what Brad is reading. _Physicians' Desk Reference._

"I never realized you were such a drug fiend." Nate comments.

"I'm not. I'm looking for something to take for the wedding. I don't want to leave you standing at the altar in front of four hundred people."

"Good idea." Nate says thoughtfully. "Let's just elope."

"I'm all for that." Brad says eagerly.

"My mother would _disown_ me."

"I'm sure she wouldn't."

"You haven't been paying attention. This is going to major Broadway production. We are an excuse for my Uncle Harry to impress his lawyer buddies and for Mama to entertain all her siblings. If we bow out, Harry will hire actors to impersonate us. Besides, Walt and Ray's wedding was a small affair. I can't have that, too."

"Thank you Walt and Ray." Brad sighs heavily. "Let's just go down to City Hall and get married beforehand. That way, if anything happens, at lease we'll be married."

"I wouldn't like that." Nate shakes his head. "It would be lying...I would just feel weird. How about we do that after, if the real wedding goes to hell?"

"Plan B." Brad nods and holds out his hand. Nate shakes his firmly with a laugh.

"Are you finding anything?"

"Well, _ideally_ , I would like a neuroleptic called Risperdal, but I can't get it in 1999. The next best thing would be Clozaril, and a possible third option would be Haldol."

"They all sound like high-tech cough medicines."

"They're antipsychotics." Brad corrects him, setting he book down.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Brad nods.

"But...you're not psychotic."

"On an EEG, I have the brain of a schizophrenic." Brad explains tiredly. "More than one doctor has insisted that this little time traveling delusion I have is due to schizophrenia. These drugs block dopamine receptors."

"Side effects?"

"Well...muscle spasms, agitation, distress, restlessness, pseudo-Parkinsonism, insomnia...the destruction of the body's ability to make white blood cells...oh, and then there's the loss of sexual function. And the fact that all the drugs that are currently available are somewhat sedative."

"You're not seriously thinking of taking any of these, are you?" Nate gapes at him.

"I've taken Haldol before." Brad informs him.

"And?"

"Horrible. I was a total zombie and I felt like my brain was full of Elmer's Glue."

"That sounds nice." Nate rolls his eyes. "Anything else you can take?"

"Valium, Librium, Xanax-"

"Mama takes Xanax and Valium."

"Yeah, that would make sense." He makes a face and then sighs. He then turns on the couch and flops down, his head pillowed in Nate's lap."

"Don't take anything." Nate mumbles, his fingers dragging soothingly through Brad's hair.

"Why not?"

"You're not sick."

Brad laughs, a sound Nate never gets tired of. "That's what I love about you: your inability to see all my hideous flaws." His hand is starting to play with the buttons of Nate's shirt. Nate stops him from opening his shirt.

"Can you stop?" He gets off the couch, causing Brad to drop onto the couch. He sits up and stares uncomprehendingly at his fiancé. "I don't understand why you talk like that. You are always saying horrible things about yourself and you _aren't_ like that! You're _good_."

"I'm not good." Brad shakes his head. He stands and puts his hands on Nate's waist. "But maybe I will be soon."

"You're already there, Brad." Nate closes his eyes and puts his forehead to Brad's chest.

"Do you ever lie awake at night and wonder if I'm some sort of sick joke God is playing on you?"

"No." Nate says assuredly. "I lie awake worrying that you're going to disappear and never come back. I lie awake brooding about some of the stuff I sort of half know about the future. I have total faith in the idea that we are supposed to be together. I am absolutely assured of this."

"Total faith?"

"Don't you?" Nate blinks up at him, looking small and scared of his answer.

" _Nor time, nor place, nor chance, nor death can bow, my least desire unto the least remove."_

"Come again?" Nate raises an eyebrow."

"Don't mind if I do." Brad smirks.

"Asshole," Nate smacks him lightly in the chest.

" _Now_ who's saying horrible things about me?"

 

_Monday, July 28, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

Brad is sitting on a bench in Mitchell Park, watching the dog walkers pass through and toss Frisbees. His eyes are closed and he's enjoying the mid-morning sunlight when he hears,

"Library Boy!"

He blinks over and sees Ray walking towards him. He's still in his fatigues, having just got back from the base. Brad groans internally. Ray has a strange way of showing up when Brad is up to something particularly nefarious. Brad needs to get rid of him before Roe shows up.

"Hey, Ray."

"What are you doing out here?" Ray asks. _Good question_.

"I'm waiting on a friend. What time is it?"

"Quarter after ten." Ray says immediately before adding, "July 28, 1999."

"I got that, thanks." Brad laughs. "Thanks anyways. What are _you_ doing over here?"

"I'm meeting Walt in a restaurant not too far from here. I felt like walking today."

"And showing off your uniform, right?"

"I would _never_." Ray winks at him. Brad frowns as he takes in Ray's full appearance.

"Why are your knuckles bloody?"

Ray bites his lower lip but his stance straightens. He's in Marine-mode, now. "This woman came screaming out of her apartment. Her boyfriend made her ten-year-old daughter drink Drano."

"Too many maniacs." Brad comments.

"Yeah, I'm tired of humans. Have you eaten?"

"Yeah," Brad nods. "I gotta stay here, though. Waiting for that friend."

"Right," Ray nods. "Didn't know you had any friends who lived out this way."

"He's not from California. He's up visiting a counsel for his clinic-"

"Brad." Ray and Brad both turn to see Gene Roe walking towards them, a cigarette between his pale lips. "Sorry I'm late. I was asked to do a walk-through at the clinic." Ray gives him a once-over. Roe looks over at him.

"Ray, this is Gene Roe. Gene, this is Ray. I'm gonna have to leave you here, Ray." Brad says.

"Well, I'm not meeting Walt until-"

"Sorry, Ray, this is kind of...above your paygrade."

"Okay," Ray looks between them suspiciously. "I'll be off, then."

"I'll call you later this afternoon." Brad promises. Ray nods firmly before walking off, casting them strange looks over his shoulder.

Brad and Roe begin walking slowly into the park. Gene looks amazingly like a Cajun from Antarctica. His pale skins contrasts greatly with his dark, almost blue hair. His dark eyes are small and the tip of his nose red. South Philly seems to have hardened his skin a bit, his skin dry and cracking around his hands.

He, more than anyone Brad knows, looks like he should be a librarian. Instead, Gene is a doctor for a free clinic in Philly. He's the best, a surgeon, nurse, and MD all in one. He's amazing. He's also gotten skinnier since Brad last saw him, his hair thinner. He's wearing a dark sweater and a red, cotton hat even though it's July. Gene has AIDs, and every time Brad sees him, he pays attention. He never knows when will be the last time he sees him.

"You're looking good." Brad comments.

"Massive doses of AZT." Gene shrugs. "Vitamins, yoga, and visual imaging. Speaking of which, what can I do for you?"

"I'm getting married."

Roe barks out a laugh and stares over at him. " _You_ are getting _married_? Congratulations! To whom?"

"Nate." Brad replies. "You've met him. He's got short brown hair, bright green eyes-"

"Ah, yes, I remember." Roe nods. "Does he...know?"

"Yes."

"Well, great." He gives Brad a look that says, _Good, but what does that have to do with me being here?_

"His family has planned this huge wedding, up in Maryland. Church, flowers, rice, the whole nine yards. And, of course, a lavish reception at the Yacht Club afterwards. White tie, no less."

Roe nods as they push into a small diner. They both order coffee and sit down across a table from each other.

"I need to be there, Gene." Brad continues urgently. "I need to get through about eight hours of huge, mind-boggling stress, all without disappearing."

"Ah," Gene has a way of taking in a problem, accepting it, and then soothing over it.

"I need something that's going to take out every dopamine receptor I've got."

"Navane, Haldol, Thorazine, Serentil, Mellaril, Stelazine..."

"I was hoping you could make this for me." Brad produces a notecard and hands it to him.

"3-[2-[4-96-fluoro-1,2-benzisoxazol-3-yl)..colloidal silicon dioxide, hydroxypropyl, methyl- what _is_ this?" Gene asks, squinting down at the card.

"It's a new antipsychotic called risperidone, marketed as Risperdal. It will be commercially available in 2004, but I'd like to try it _now_. It belongs to a new class of drugs called benzisoxazole derivatives."

"Where did you get this?" He waves the card.

"PDR, the 2000 edition."

"Jesus, Brad - Who makes it?"

"Janssen."

"Brad, you _know_ you don't tolerate antipsychotics very well." His Southern accent coming out a little strong as his anxiety boosts. His foot taps restlessly under the table. "Unless this works in some radically different way, I don't-"

"They don't know _how_ it works. 'Selective monoaminergic antagonist with high affinity for serotonin type two, dopamine type two, blah blah blah."

"Well, same old same old. What makes you think this is going to be any better than Haldol?"

"It's an educated guess." Brad smiles patiently. "I don't know for sure, but can you make it?"

"I...I _can_ , yes."

"How soon? It takes a while to build up in the system."

"I'll let you know." Roe sighs. "When's the wedding?"

"October 23."

"What's the dosage?" Roe goes back to studying the card.

"Start with one milligram and build from there."

Roe stretches shortly like a cat, back arching a little. His skin is paper thin and Brad worries. Roe is a stubborn son of a bitch, but it doesn't mean that his disease isn't fighting back with the power of ten of Roe's Philly boyfriend.

"Brad, you don't even know for sure that dopamine's the problem."

"You're seen the scans, Gene."

"Yeah, yeah. Why not just live with it? The cure might be worse than the problem!"

"Gene, if I snapped my fingers and right now you suddenly found yourself standing in Sobel's bedroom in 1992-"

"I'd kill the fucker." Gene spits angrily, tears suddenly coming to his eyes.

"But you can't, because you _didn't_." Roe closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You can't change anything; he will still get you sick, you will still get sick, and so on. And what if you had to watch Julian die, over and over? What if you had to see the look on Babe's face over and over until-?"

"Please stop." Gene whispers and Brad takes a shaky breath.

"That's what it's like, Gene. Sometimes it's fun, I admit it, but mostly it's getting lost and stealing and trying to just-"

"Cope. God, I don't know why I put up with you."

"Novelty? My boyish good looks?"

"Dream on. Am I invited to the wedding?"

"Really?" Brad blinks in surprise. "You _want_ to come?"

"Beats funerals." Roe shrugs. Brad grins.

"Great! My side of the church is filling up rapidly. I'm now at eight if you bring Babe."

"Invite all your ex's. That'll swell the ranks."

"I wouldn't survive it. Most of them want my head on a stick."

"I bet." Roe nods, smirking. They throw their cups away and then step back outside. "Speaking of heads on sticks, Babe will kill me if I miss my flight."

"I'll call you a cab." Brad says as they walk towards the street corner. Roe reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle, dumps out three small pills, and hands them to Brad.

"What's this?"

"It's an endorphin stabilizer combined with an antidepressant. It's - hey, don't-" Brad has already put a pill in his mouth and swallowed. "It's morphine based. You have the most casually arrogant attitude towards drugs."

"I like opiates." Brad shrugs.

"I bet. Don't think I'm going to let you have a ton of those. Let me know if you think that would do the job for the wedding, in case this other plan doesn't work. They last about four hours, so you would need two." He nods to the two remaining pills. "Don't gobble those up just for fun, okay?"

"Scout's honor." Brad salutes him lazily. He waves for a cab which pulls over and helps Roe inside. "Stay safe, and tell Babe I said hi."

"Will do." Gene nods and Brad closes the door. He watches the car disappear around the corner and Brad turns around to start walking back home. Two blocks over, he finds Ray and Walt waiting.

"Care for a ride?" Walt asks.

"Sure," Brad nods. He's unusually warmed by the thought that they waited for him. He climbs into the backseat behind Ray, Walt in the driver's seat. They pull into traffic with NPR playing quietly on the radio.

Walt and Ray talk quietly amongst themselves and Brad stares out the window, his brain becoming fluid, his thoughts like velvet across the inside of his eyelids. After a moment, he realizes that Ray is turned in his seat and staring at him.

"Brad!" He yells in a way that suggests this isn't the first time he's said his name.

"Yes?" Brad asks, moving only his head to face away from the window and at Ray.

"What are you on?"

"I'm not exactly sure." Brad frowns, trying to pluck through his thoughts, but they're like water and keep sliding through the cracks of his fingers. His tongue feels heavy when he adds, "I think it's a science experiment, of sorts."

"Why?"

"Stellar question." His words are so slurred it comes out more like _stella questing_. "I'll get...back to you...on...that." He blinks and all of the cars outside the window wash together. He frowns when the car pulls over in front of Walt, Nate, and Ray's apartment.

"Why...am I-"

"You need some company." Ray tells him, opening Brad's door and helping him out. It takes both Ray and Walt to drag all six foot five of him up the stairs. Ray pounds on the door and it swings open a minute later. When Nate looks at Brad, he looks upset, relieved, and amused all at once.

"C'mon, buddy." Nate helps them drag Brad to Nate's bedroom where Nate gets Brad's shoes off and pulls the covers over him.

When he appears in the kitchen, Ray hands him a mug. "Pots heating up," he says, nodding to the coffee pot.

"Thanks for bringing him here." Nate tells Ray and Walt.

"Anything for my little kitten." Ray says sarcastically. Walt rolls his eyes.

"It wasn't a problem." Walt assures Nate.

"Eugene Roe," Ray comments. "Haven't seen him in these parts for a while."

"You know Gene?" Nate frowns.

"I know _of_ our friendly neighborhood Doc Roe. My mom used to go to Roe when she was having chemo."

"Oh," Nate nods slowly. The coffee finishes brewing and Ray pours some into Nate's mug before doing Walt's and his own. Nate grabs the sugar and pours some in.

"Whatever this Gene guy gave him has really put him in the Slow Zone." Walt comments, sipping his coffee.

"We're trying to find something to help Brad stay in the present." Nate sighs wearily, sitting down at the table. Ray and Walt follow a moment later.

"He seems a little _too_ inanimate for daily use."

"Yeah," Nate nods. _Lower dosage?_

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Nate frowns at Ray.

"Aiding and abetting an obvious drug habit. This isn't Brad."

Before Nate can reply, he hears Brad calling for him. He gets up and rushes to the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Brad is splayed out on the bed in a mesh of limbs. He rolls over and grins crookedly at Nate.

"How's it going?"

"Heaven," Brad laughs slightly and then hiccups. "Wanna join me?"

"I'm okay." Nate sits at the end of the bed and Brad snorts, turning his face into the pillow.

"You're so _good_. I shouldn't try to corrupt you." He mumbles.

"I'm not very good, I'm afraid." Nate lays down beside him and they simply breathe together.

"I can't take this for the wedding." Brad says, more breath than actual sound. "It's too much fun. I mean, Gene's a genius - that's funny. I love alliteration - but he's used to working with people who are terminally ill. Whatever's in that thing he gave me, it plays like a near-death experience." He sighs and for a second, Nate thinks he's gone to bed.

"Do you need anything? Water? Food?"

"No, thanks." Brad murmurs.

"Is Gene going to make that other drug for you?"

"He's going to try."

"What if it isn't right?"

"You mean if Roe fucks up?"

"Yeah."

"Whatever happens, we know I live until at least my mid-thirties. So don't even worry about it."

"Mid-thirties?" Nate sits up suddenly and stares down at the other man. "What happens after that?"

"I don't know, Nate?" Brad scrubs at his face agitatedly. "Maybe I stop going away. Maybe I...just...stop." And he's asleep.

Nate stares at him for a long time after and wonders, _mid-thirties_ _?_

 

_Friday, August 19, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

Nate unlocks Brad's apartment door and steps inside. He flicks on the lights and breathes in the fresh feeling of air conditioning. He and Brad are late for dinner with Gene while he's in town at some seminar, making Nate a flustered mess. So flustered he doesn't realize at first that turning the lights on means Brad isn't home. Meaning Brad isn't _there_.

 _Fuck_.

Nate is furiously annoyed at Brad for travelling somewhere else, even though _rationally_ , he knows it isn't exactly Brad's fault. Another second later, Nate realizes that he isn't hearing himself breathe, he's hearing someone _else_.

In the kitchen, he finds Brad lying on the floor, fully clothed, and staring at the ceiling unblinkingly. His breathing is ragged and then he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, definitely not human-sounding, and Nate sees that there are tear-tracks down his cheeks.

"Jesus!" Nate shouts, grabbing the phone on the wall next to him. "Oh god, oh god, oh-" He dials 911 and the operator assures him that an ambulance will be there in a few short minutes.

Nate watches Brad for another minute before looking at the list next to Brad's phone and dialing a new number.

"Hello?" Gene's voice sounds far away and Nate can hear the sounds of airport behind him.

"Gene!"

"Nate? Are you here already? I'm just getting my luggage-"

"Gene, Brad is lying on the floor totally rigid and he isn't talking. What the _fuck_?"

"What? Shit! Call 911!"

"I already did"

"The drug is mimicking Parkinson's." Gene says quickly. "He needs dopamine. Tell them - shit, call me from the hospital."

"I can hear sirens. I think they're here-"

"I'm getting a cab. I'll be there soon."

The paramedics are pounding on the door and Nate hangs up, running to open it for them.

Later, Brad has been admitted, injected, and intubated and is lying in a hospital bed attached to a monitor, sleeping and peaceful. Gene appears in the doorway and Nate stands up from where he's been studying his fiancé.

"I'm so sorry, Nate." Gene says. Nate shakes his head and wraps the other man into a hug. Gene stiffens, and then slowly returns the hug.

"It's okay. He's going to be fine."

"It's completely my fault." Gene says, leaning back and staring hopelessly at Brad. "I should never have made it for him."

"What happened?"

"It could be several things." Gene sits down in one of the hospital's plastic chairs. Nate sits down in his own, more cushioned seat. "It could just be a side effect, could happen to anybody. But it could just be that Brad didn't have the recipe quite right. I mean, it's kind of a lot to memorize and I didn't exactly have anything to check it against."

They're silent a long while, listening to the fluid dripping into Brad's system.

"Gene?"

"Yeah?"

"Do something for me?"

"Anything, Nate. For you, anything."

"Cut him off, _please_. No more drugs. They aren't working."

"Thank god." Gene laughs humorlessly. "Just say no."

"Exactly." Nate joins him in laughing.

"I'm really sorry this happened, Nate. He could easily have died and I'm really sor-"

"But he didn't." Nate says firmly.

"No, he didn't." Gene nods.

"See you and Babe at the wedding?"

"Yes," Gene nods and then shakes Nate's hand before leaving as quickly as he'd come.

 


	7. Take Me To Church

 

**_Saturday, October 23, 1999 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_ **

_6:00 AM_

Brad blinks awake to find it raining outside. He's tucked in comfortably in his hotel room across town from Nate's mom's house. Jennifer and Todd are in the room directly across from him, Nate's grandparents to his left, and to his right is Gene and Babe.

The rain is loud and pounding against the room's window. Brad wonders if he'll be able to run in the monsoon, but decides he needs to. He kicks off his blankets and shivers as the cold air hits his bare chest and he quickly tugs his T-shirt over his head. He pulls on a pair of long johns before his basketball shorts. His shoes come next, double knotted and ready for action.

Outside, the water is freezing and cuts like ice through all of Brad's layers. He takes off down the sidewalk and tucks his head to his chest. As he runs, he sends up a prayer to anyone listening: _Let today be a normal day. Let me be normally befuddled, normally nervous. Get me to the church on time,_ in _time. Let me get through our wedding day the best I can. Preferably, without any special effects. Deliver Nate from any unpleasant scenes. Amen._

 

_7:00 AM_

Nate's eyes open to the familiar sight of his childhood bedroom. It takes him a moment to remember where he is in time, what today is.

 _This is it_ , he tells himself. _Today Brad and I are getting married._

 

_7:16 AM_

The ceremony begins at two in the afternoon. In the shower after his run, he calculates that it will take half an hour to get the tux on and twenty more minutes to drive to St. Basil's. This leaves him about five hours and forty minutes to kill.

He towels off and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and an old flannel shirt. He slips into his sneakers and pads down to the continental breakfast for some coffee. As he steps into the room, he finds Todd sipping at his own coffee, reading the newspaper. He looks up when Brad enters and offers him a smile.

"Coffee any good?" Brad asks.

"Not bad," Todd shrugs. Brad pours it into the paper cup and then sits across from Todd.

"So," Todd says. "Today's the day."

"Yeah, it is." Brad nods and they fall into a comfortable silence. Brad looks out the window at the hotel's garden.

 

_8:22 AM_

Nate hears the shower in the next room start up and hears Ray's usual off-key singing through the thin wall. Nate slips out of bed and quietly clicks into Walt's bedroom. He can see his hair sticking out from underneath the blanket and without hesitation, Nate leaps on top of him.

"Daylight in the swamp, birds are singing!" Nate sings loudly at him, bouncing up and down on his brother's bundled up form. "The frogs are jumping and it's _time to get up_!"

"Get _off_ me!" Walt growls, tugging the blanket tighter around him. Nate goes for his sides and tickles him. Walt laughs loudly and bucks away from him, causing Nate to fall onto the other side of the bed. Walt launches himself at him and they fall onto the floor in a pile of limbs. They're both laughing hard when the door opens and Dick sticks his head inside.

"What is all this _bumping_?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at the boys. "Your mother thinks a _tree_ fell on the house, but _no_ , it's _you_ trying to kill each other."

"Breakfast is ready!" They all hear Nixon calling from downstairs. Dick winks at the boys before leaving the room. The door from the bathroom opens and Ray steps out with a towel around his waist. His dog tags stick out sharply against his tan skin and he's grinning lopsidedly at them.

"Should I ask, or...?"

"Not." Nate grins, tickles his brother once more, and then rushes out of the room before Walt can retaliate.

_8:30 AM_

Brad is pacing his room desperately, looking out the window every few seconds. It's raining and blowing outside, which is not at all a good sign. Brad sighs and keeps pacing.

_Please don't travel today. Please don't travel today. Please don't travel, please don't travel, please don't please don't pleasedon'tpleasedon'tpleasedon't-_

 

_8:58 AM_

At the breakfast table, Nate stares at the rain coming down in sheets and hopes that Brad isn't attempting to run in this. Nixon has made a wonderful breakfast of eggs, bacon, French toast, and broiled potatoes.

"Perfect weather for a wedding." Ray comments around a bite of bacon. Walt smacks him in the chest for not using his manners but Ray just grins at him.

"I didn't pick it." Nate sighs, staring hopelessly out the window. Walt frowns.

"You didn't?"

"Mama picked it."

"Because _I'm_ paying for it." Harry says at the end of the table, seated between Nate's mother and Kitty.

"True," Nate nods slowly, eating a piece of French toast. He swallows and looks at his mother. "Do I have time before Rudy shows up?" Rudy Reyes is the wedding planner and he's going to be all over Nate until he can shove him down the aisle.

"He's coming at eleven." She frowns at her son. "Why?"

"I just need to run into town and get something."

"I can do it." Ray says eagerly. Nate knows that he just desperately wants to leave. It's no secret that Nate's family doesn't like him. _Walt deserves better_ , his parents had said.

"I'd like to go, myself." Nate replies.

"Why don't we both go?" Ray suggests desperately.

"By _myself_." Nate tries to get him to understand, but he just looks confused.

"Oh, okay." He goes back to eating his food and not looking at the rest of the family.

Nate looks at Harry, who is watching him carefully. "May I be excused?"

"Certainly." He nods curtly.

"Thank you." Nate stands quickly and flees.

 

_9:30 AM_

Brad can't stop staring at the dress shoes that he'd been given for the wedding. The price tag was above five hundred dollars. He's never worn an article of clothing that cost more than fifty, let alone _shoes_.

A knock on the door has him jerking out of his thoughts. "Just a minute!" He calls. He walks over to the door and looks out the peephole. To his complete surprise, it's Nate.

"What's the password?" Brad asks, his face going soft as he grins at his soon-to-be husband.

"Fuck me." Nate replies. Brad swings the door open and Nate pushes past him, toeing out of his shoes and tugging off his rain-soaked jacket without pausing.

"You're not joking." Brad frowns at him.

"Come on, O almost-husband of mine. I've got to be back by eleven." Nate catches sight of the wet T-shirt and shoes by the door. "You went running in this rain?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures." Brad shrugs. He unbuttons the flannel shirt and pulls it off, his eyes going dark as Nate pulls off his jeans. "Isn't it bad luck to see you before the wedding?"

"So close your eyes." Nate grins, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed. Brad sits down on the edge and Nate straddles him playfully. "It's cold up here." He says, running his fingers down Brad's chest.

"Then we should find a way to warm up."

"We do everything out of order, don't we?" Nate's fingers slide into Brad's hair.

"Is that a problem?" Brad looks worried and Nate kisses his forehead.

"I like it." He breathes against Brad's lips.

"Good. You've come to the right man for all your extra chronological needs." And then his hands slide underneath Nate's boxers and over his ass and Nate is sighing into his mouth. Their cocks grind together and Brad hums.

"God, I love you." Nate says, pushing Brad down onto the bed and grinding harder into him.

"And I, you." Brad comments, pulling him down to him.

 

_11:15 AM_

Nate steps into the house and sets his umbrella down in the hallway. Walt comes around the corner and puts his hands on his waist.

"You're late. Rudy is already here."

"What time is it?" Nate asks, taking off his shoes.

"Eleven fifteen. Hey, you've got your shirt on backwards."

"I think that's good luck, isn't it?" Nate asks hopefully. Walt sees right through him and rolls his eyes.

"Maybe, but you'd better change it before Mom sees you."

Nate does before running up the stairs. He finds Rudy and his mother standing in his bedroom.

"There you are!" His mother exclaims. "I was getting worried. Rudy will take care of you; I need to go talk to the caterers." She leaves hurriedly and Nate looks at Rudy. He's assessing him critically and looks dissatisfied with what he finds.

"Why don't you comb your hair?" Rudy suggests. He takes out some gel and watches Nate comb out his wet tangles.

"Rudy?" He asks. The man looks down at him. "I was thinking we could do this." He pulls out a picture he'd cut out of a magazine for his hair. Rudy frowns at it.

"This isn't what your mother wants. She wants it gelled back." He motions to the strands of hair that hang below Nate's ears.

"It's my wedding, Rudy. And my hair. I'll give you an extra tip, too, if you do it this way."

Rudy stares at him a moment longer. "Fine." He says. "But your mother won't be happy."

_12:25 PM_

Nate descends the stairs and Walt smiles at him.

"I like it." He says. Mama frowns.

"That is _not_ what we agreed on, Nate."

The longer locks of hair have all been cut, his hair gelled slightly and his natural curls rounding just a little bit around the tops of his ears. It's different and looks much darker this way.

"Let's go." Harry says, motioning for everyone to get in the car. Nate takes a deep breath and follows.

 

_12:55 PM (Brad is 38)_

Brad walks down the highway about two miles from Nate's old house. It's freezing outside, the rain having frozen and it feels like shards of glass hitting Brad's skin. The only clothing he could find was a pair of sweatpants. He's barefoot and shirtless, standing in the middle of nowhere.

He finds a small gas station and enters, standing underneath the above-the-door heater, water puddling under his feet. The old man behind the counter frowns at him.

"Quite a day to be out in that." He says.

"Yeah," Brad nods.

"Car break down?"

"What? Oh, no." Brad shakes his head. The man stares pointedly at his bare feet and unseasonable clothing. Brad feigns embarrassment. "My girlfriend threw me out."

He says something, probably a joke, but Brad doesn't hear it because at that moment he catches sight of the paper. _Saturday, October 23, 1999._ Their wedding day. He looks at the clock which says: 1:10. _Fuck_.

He pushes out of the station without looking at the other man and starts running.

 

_1:42 PM_

Nate stands in his fourth-grade classroom and stares at himself in his tuxedo. It's black, with a white shirt and a green tie. His eyes look bright and excited, even though inside he feels nervous and sick.

His mother keeps fussing over him and adjusting his cuff links, his lapels, anything she can get her hands on. Walt keeps sending him sympathetic looks and mouthing inappropriate things over his mother's shoulder.

Nate fiddles with the ring in his pocket and prays for everything to go according to plan.

 

_1:50 PM_

Brad is resting on the radiator in an old room filled with boxes containing old prayer books. Ray is holding a box of fresh strawberries and keeps popping them into his mouth. For some strange reason, seeing Ray eating like his usual self makes him more relaxed.

He never thought he'd have friends like these.

"You have the ring?" He asks for the billionth time.

" _Yes,_ Bradley, I have your precious ring." Ray rolls his eyes and holds out the box. "Strawberry?"

"Not now." Brad shakes his head. Ray shrugs.

"More for me."

Before Brad can reply, there's a noise outside the window and Brad ignores his growing headache to look out the window. Sitting in the dirt is himself, wearing nothing but grey sweatpants that are soaked through. He looks up at Brad and grins before giving him the thumbs up.

 

_1:55 PM_

Nate is standing in the vestibule of the church. Harry is tapping his foot and looking at his watch.

"Come on." He says, knocking on the door of Brad's room. Ray sticks his head out, looking weary and nervous. Walt and Nate exchange looks.

"Just...one more minute." Ray says, quickly closing the door again. Another second and Ray pushes Brad out the door. Brad is doing up his cufflinks and he catches Nate's eye. He's wet and dirty and unshaven and looks to be in his forty's, but Nate doesn't care because Brad is _here_ and soon, they're going to be married.

 

_Sunday, June 9, 1977 (Brad is 28)_

He's lying on the floor of his old bedroom and his head is throbbing. The house is silent, meaning that Jennifer and Todd have probably taken him to that old church. He stands and walks downstairs where he cracks open one of Todd's beers. _Idiot_ , he tells himself. _You_ would _miss your own wedding._

 

_Saturday, October 23, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 38 and 28)_

_2:38 PM_

Standing at the altar, all Nate can really hear is the beating of his own heart. It thrums against his chest, in his throat, his stomach, in his ears.

"I, Brad, take you, Nathaniel, to be my lawfully wedded husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, and I promise to love you and honor you all the days of my life."

 _Remember this,_ Nate tells himself as he repeats those phrases back to Brad. Father O'Donnell smiles at them and says, "What God has joined, men must not divide." Nate thinks, _that's not really our problem_.

Brad slides the new ring just below his father's ring on Nate's finger. Nate slides a similar silver band into place and realizes that this will be the only time Brad will wear it. It isn't safe, otherwise.

 _He's here_. Those two words are a chanted mantra as the mass is taken and then Father O'Donnell is telling them to go in peace and Nate and Brad have officially become _NateandBrad_.

_6:15 PM_

The reception has just begun with caterers running back and forth with steel carts and covered trays. People have started arriving and their coats are being collected. Thankfully, the run has stopped completely and Nate's backyard is big and spacious, filled with hundreds of tea lights.

He hasn't seen Nate in about fifteen minutes, after his husband had been whisked away with his mother and aunt for some reason not given to Brad. He's standing near the tree line, away from the party, but after a moment he can see two figures walking towards him; the first is Ray, and right behind him is Gene.

"How are you?" Gene asks, looking worried.

"I'm okay." Brad nods firmly. "But I need a favor from you. Ray, I need you to go back to the church. I'm there, waiting in the vestibule. Pick me up and bring me here. Smuggle me into the garden shed to the left of the house. Leave me there. Gene, keep an eye on _me_." He points to himself - his thirty-eight-year-old self, that is. "When I tell you to, grab my tux and bring it to me in the garden shed. Okay?"

"How much time we got?" Ray asks.

"Not a lot."

Ray nods and takes off at a slight jog towards his car. Brad watches until he turns a corner and then looks at Gene.

"How are you?" He asks.

Gene smiles weakly. He has a bit more color in his cheeks, but he's far from _better_. "Kind of fatigued." He pauses. "Brad?"

"Yeah?"

"Where are you coming from?"

"2002."

"Can you...Look; I know you never do this, but..."

"What?" Brad looks worried. "Gene, whatever it is, I'll give it to you. It's a special occasion, after all."

"It's just...am I alive?" His voice is barely more than a whisper and he won't look at Brad any longer.

"You're doing just fine, Gene. I just saw you a few days ago; we played pool."

Gene lets out a breath of air. "Thank you." He's silent for a long time. "And...Babe?"

"You're both doing well, Gene." Brad promises.

"Thank you." He repeats. Brad smiles and claps him on the shoulder.

"It's no problem." There are tears in Gene's eyes, but none fall down his cheeks. He takes off in search of a bathroom and Brad watches him go. The smaller man gets halfway down the lit path when a familiar red head launches himself at Gene and kisses him deeply. Brad feels himself relax as he observes his friends walking hand-in-hand to the house.

 

_7:03 PM_

As they all start sitting down for dinner, Nate realizes that Brad is nowhere in sight. Knowing that Ray will know _something_ , he asks his brother-in-law. Ray, being Ray, just gives a shrug and says, "I'm sure he'll show up sometime."

"Where is Brad?" Jennifer asks, stepping closer to Nate.

"I don't know."

Jennifer nods and leans closer to him. "I saw his friend Gene carrying a pile of clothing out of the Lounge."

Nate's stomach drops. There's no way they can make it through this if Brad has snapped back to his own present. Nate is starting to come up with excuses for Brad's absence when Jennifer perks up.

"There he is!"

Nate looks up and sees Brad standing in the doorway of Nate's house. When he spots them, he runs over and kisses Nate deeply.

"Howdy, stranger." Nate chuckles. He allows Brad to lead him to the head table when Todd leans over and says something to Brad that he doesn't catch.

"What did he say?"

"He asked if we were planning a ménage a trois for the wedding night." Brad sighs. Nate's face turns bright red and Todd laughs like he hasn't in _years_.

 

_7:16 PM_

Brad is looking at the books on the shelves when a security guard rounds the corner and glares at him.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." _No shoes, no shirt, no service._

"Okay," Brad nods and starts to follow him. When the guard turns his back, Brad feels the familiar buzz in his veins and suddenly he's on the kitchen floor in 2002. He laughs.

"What's so funny?" Nate steps out of the bedroom toweling his wet hair and frowning down at him.

"I've _always_ wanted to do that!

 

_7:25 PM_

Ray stands and clears his throat before beginning his speech:

"Dear Nate, and Brad, family and friends, lieutenants and generals...wait, scratch that." A few laughs. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today on the shores of Bachelor and Bachelorette livelihoods to wave our handkerchiefs at Nate and Brad as they embark together on their voyage on the Good Ship Matrimony. And while we are sad to see them go, I'm sure their much-fictionalized Wedded Bliss address will be more than adequate. Some of us, myself included, have already lived there for some time, and some more of you will soon join us unless you can think of a way to avoid it. So, let us toast: to Nathaniel Fick Colbert, the second most attractive man I've ever seen," A wink at Walt. "And someone who deserves every happiness that may befall him in this new world. And to Brad Colbert, a damn fine fellow and a lucky son of a bitch. May the Sea of Life stretch before you like glass and may you always have the wind at your backs. To the happy couple!"

Everyone raises their glass to the two grooms and Brad leans over to capture Nate's mouth with his. Ray laughs and leans down, doing the same to his own husband.

 

_8:52 PM_

The cake has been eaten, the toasts have been made, and Brad holds Nate close on the dance floor. After an hour, he's danced with Jennifer, Lena Basilone, Walt, and he's now sitting with Mike at a back table while Nate is laughing heartily with Walt and Ray by the (spiked) punch bowl.

As Mike and Brad shoot the shit, Gene appears next to Brad with Fran Guarnere's garter around his arm like he's in mourning. His smile, however, is bright when he asks,

"You feel okay for the night?"

"I'll be fine, Gene."

"Well, Babe and I gotta head out. I'm really happy for you, Brad."

"Thanks, Gene. Make sure to let that red head know how much you love him."

"I'll do my best." Gene's smile softens before he takes off with his boyfriend. Mike and Brad share a look and then both take a long drink of their beers. It's a good night.

 

_11:29 PM_

It's over. They've hugged and kissed their way out of the house and driven off in the shaving-cream-tin-can-covered car. They drive until they hit the large cabin in Maine that Nate's family owns. It's big and warm and _gorgeous._ Brad carries Nate across the bedroom threshold while they both giggle and kiss and when they make it to the bed, they lay down side by side and stare for a little while.

Nate is overcome by a strange sensation: euphoria. He's happier than he thinks he's ever been, and he's _married_. Married to a man who was always slipping through his fingers.

He kisses Brad softly and they fall into each other, making love for the first time as one.

 

_Monday, October 25, 1999 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

They're standing in the Palo Alto City Hall and being married by a judge with Ray and Walt as witnesses. Afterwards, they go to dinner at Walt's restaurant and take a lot of photos and have a good time.

"How does it feel to be married?" Walt asks them.

"I feel _very_ married." Nate grins.

"You could keep going." Ray comments. "Try out all the different ceremonies. Buddhist, nudist-"

"As long as the ending is the same."

"Plus, I'm pretty sure you can marry the same person as many times as you want." Walt adds.

" _Are you_ the same person?" Ray peers intensely at Brad, who rolls his eyes.

"I've never felt more _me_." Brad answers truthfully, squeezing Nate's hand under the table. Ray mutters something about newlyweds and Walt winks at Nate over the table. He raises his glass and the rest follow, a sharp note rings out but then fades into the noise of the restaurant.

And so, they are married.

 


	8. The Elements of Marriage

****

_March 2000 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

And so they are married, which to Nate, seems fairly unrealistic. Spending your entire childhood chasing an uncatchable man can do that to you, he supposes. Brad moves into the apartment with Nate while Ray and Walt move into their own home.

Nate and Brad have never seemed so _domestic_. They order kitchen appliances that work and hire a plumber to _finally_ fix the leaky sink. They spend Sunday afternoons in Crate  & Barrel exchanging wedding presents and ordering furniture. The sofa they'd bought with scraped together cash is too big for the apartment doors, so they send it back and move on. They buy a plush mattress and a soft, gold rug for the cold tile flooring in the bathroom.

The bedroom is their laboratory, where they can now conduct experiments for hours and spend days of researching each other. They discover that Brad hates it when Nate taps his foot while doing school work and that Nate despises when Brad leaves his running shoes in front of the door. They agree that Nate can listen to metal while Brad listens to jazz when the other one isn't around. They discover that Brad is the only one to use the stove and oven, while Nate is the only one allowed to touch the washer and dryer. Brad is in charge of dishes and Nate is in charge of vacuuming.

They have a _routine_. Brad works at the surf shop Mondays through Thursdays and at the library on Fridays and twice a month on Saturday. He wakes up promptly at six thirty and starts the coffee before pulling on his running clothes and heading outside. When he returns, he hops in the shower and Nate stumbles sleepily out of bed to pour himself coffee and he talks loudly to Brad when he's getting dressed in the bedroom while Nate sits and reads the newspaper in the dining room. Brad fixes together breakfast and they eat. Brad brushes his teeth and Nate goes back to bed for a little while as Brad leaves for work. Another hour and Nate leaves for class.

When Nate's classes finish for the day, he comes home to an empty apartment and takes a shower before combing his hair and pulling on a pair of Brad's longer sweatpants. He starts the coffee pot once more and sits at the table to begin studying.

Their life together is punctuated by Brad's small absences.  Sometimes he disappears unobtrusively; Nate might find Brad's running clothes in the living room, before Brad could leave the apartment. He might find clothes piled in the bathroom and the shower running.

Sometimes, though, it's frightening. Nate might be studying the structure of the Republican Party when suddenly there's a sound in the living room. When he goes to see what it is, he finds Brad on his hands and knees, naked, and bleeding heavily from his scalp. He opens his eyes and catches sight of Nate for only a second before he's gone again.

At night, when they go to bed, he tells Nate where he's been, the way other husbands might tell their partner about a dream they'd had. _I was in South Chicago in the dark, around 1988. I was chased by German Shepherds across someone's backyard and up a tree. I was standing in the rain near my parents' house, listening to my mother sing me to sleep._

Nate holds his breath each time, hoping that Brad might say he was visiting _him_. It hasn't happened, though, and Nate tries to remember the feeling of seeing Brad after months of no contact and hearing about each event Brad has experienced. Now, he feels disappointment laced with fear. Each story is now a nonevent; they are useless bits of adventures that Nate will never experience until Brad whispers them into the dark of their bedroom. The stories are just that, _stories_. Stories told by a tall and handsome adventurer who will suddenly materialize at Nate's feet, bleeding or singing, smiling or shaking.

Nate is fearful for the day when Brad doesn't return.

*

After years of living alone, Brad feels alien to this world of _sharing_. He learns that Nate leaves toothpaste smeared on the counter, despite _several_ talks on not doing it. He learns that clipping out a coupon from the newspaper is a punishable offense if Nathaniel hasn't read that part yet, even if the newspaper is a week old. He learns that Nate _hates_ leftovers, and demands fine dining, even if that simply means Brad making macaroni and cheese. He learns that headphones were invented to preserve spouses from each other's musical excesses (Seriously Nate, Metallica is an _awful_ band. And why do you have all of the _Screaming Trees_ albums? How can you not love _Phish_?) He learns that Nate wears _glasses_ , and when he comes home to find Nate in a pair of Brad's sweatpants and his glasses on, he finds himself unable to _not_ make love to him as soon as possible.

The hardest lesson he learns is that sometimes, Nate needs _quiet_. Not necessarily to be alone, but for Brad not to interrupt him while he's reading about the Founding Fathers or writing a paper on the degradation of systematic reprieves...or some shit like that. He sometimes finds Nate with an expression that is closed off and almost cold; he's gone inside his own head and he won't answer Brad's questions because he's _thinking, god damn it!_ Brad discovers that Nate truly needs to be alone sometimes, but he's _always_ relieved when Brad returns from his time travelling.

Nate leaves post-it notes all over the kitchen. On cabinets and the fridge are orange ones with dates and times listed on them. On the bathroom mirror and the living room wall are green ones that suggest repairs that need to be done. In the bedroom are blue ones with little phrases on them that are meant to make Brad either laugh out loud or, as Nate puts it, "give me one of your soft smiles. I like those best."

The problem, though, as that their apartment isn't big enough for two men to both have their separate spaces. Walt and Nate were okay with living on top of each other; they'd done it since childhood. Ray hadn't had a lot of items and he wasn't always around ( _Hello, Marine?_ ). One night, Brad comes home and sees Nate frowning at the cluttered living room with the boxes they hadn't had room to unpack. Brad knows, then, what he has to do.

 

_Friday, April 13, 2000 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

Nate looks up from his government textbook when he hears Brad's key in the lock. A moment later, Brad comes into the kitchen and sets a television on the counter. They don't own one because they make Brad sick and Nate is far too frazzled with school to get hooked on a new TV show. The TV Brad has brought is small and old with a dusty antenna.

"Honey, I'm home." Brad grins and leans down to kiss Nate. Nate frowns at the TV.

"That's disgusting. Did you find that in an alley somewhere?"

Brad glares at him, but it isn't serious. "I bought it down the street for ten bucks."

" _Why?_ "

"There's something on tonight that I want us to watch."

"But-"

"It's okay." Brad rushes to assure him. "I won't sit and stare. I just want you to see this." They both know that the longer Brad sees the moving pictures and colors, the more often he travels.

"What is it?" Nate isn't even sure what shows are even still going.

"It's a surprise." Brad tells him with a smirk. "It's on at eight."

Brad makes dinner and refuses to answer Nate's questions. The TV sits on the counter as if mocking him, and it begins to make Nate irrationally mad. Brad simply teases him with questions of what he'd do with an office of his own, if he had a place for all his books.

"What does it matter?" Nate frowns at him. "They sit in their box, but I still know where to find them if I need them."

"I'm being serious!"

"I don't know!" Nate shrugs. "What do I need an office for?" He takes a bite of the chicken and hums. "Ray is coming home in two weeks. Walt wants to know if you'll make that lemon cake again."

"Sure," Brad nods. He looks at the clock. "Hey, it's almost eight o'clock. Grab your coffee; I'm going to plug this in."

Nate seats himself on the couch and watches Brad set up the TV on a small end table. The screen is snowy, but Nate can still make out the logo of Channel 9 and the flashing sign for the California Lottery. Brad reaches into his pocket and hands Nate a small piece of paper.

"Hold this," he says. Nate gapes at the lottery ticket in his hand.

"You didn't." Nate says flatly.

"Shh, just watch." And with great anxiety, Nate counts off the numbers one by one as they correspond with the ones on the ticket. They have just won eight million dollars.

Brad clicks the TV off and turns to grin at Nate. "Cool trick, right?"

"I don't know what to say." Brad frowns at Nate's lack of enthusiasm.

"Say, 'Thank you, darling, for supplying us with the cash to buy a real house.' That should suffice."

"But, it isn't real."

"Sure it is! That is a real ticket with the real winning numbers and if you take it two streets over, you'll receive a giant hug and a huge check from the state of California."

"You knew the numbers."

"Of course I knew." Brad begins speaking like Nate is a small child. "I looked them up in tomorrow's paper."

"That's _cheating_ , Brad."

"Oh, silly me." Brad smacks his forehead sarcastically. "I forgot that you're supposed to buy the ticket with _out_ knowing the winning numbers beforehand." He pulls a lighter out of his pocket and holds the ticket up but Nate quickly grabs it away. Brad smiles knowingly.

"Nate, it doesn't matter. We could win the lottery every week for the rest of our lives. If it's a problem today, it's no big deal. So, let's just hang on to this ticket a while and if you feel like cashing it in, we can, or you can hand it off to the next homeless person you meet."

"That's not fair!" Nate snaps, eyes turning fiery. Brad is taken aback by his outburst.

"What's not fair?"

"You can't just leave me with a huge responsibility like this!"

"I'm perfectly happy either way, Nate." Brad tells him. "So if you believe strongly that we're cheating, toss the ticket and we won't collect eight million dollars from the State of California who _gained_ that money from hard working taxpayers. I'm sure we can find some other way to get you work space."

 _Oh_. He should say no. He should _definitely_ say no. What Brad has just done is wrong and immoral and he should say no and that should be the end of discussion.

"Nate? Earth to Nate..."

"Thank you." Nate says abruptly, blinking over at his husband in a daze.

Brad raises an eyebrow. "Does that mean we're going to cash in the ticket?"

"I don't...I don't know." Nate shrugs helplessly. "It means 'Thank you'."

"You're welcome." Brad says simply, continuing to just watch him. "Wanna watch something else on this shitty TV?"

"What, like _snow_?" Nate laughs and Brad joins him.

 

_Monday, May 11, 2000 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

They go house shopping.

No one ever tells you the amount of time it takes to pick a house out. It isn't a one and done deal, it's a huge commitment - buying a home for yourself that will feel comfortable and hold your family.

Brad and Nate are complete opposites when looking at houses. Nate walks through each room slowly, considers the woodwork and appliances, asks tons of questions, inspects the furnace, and checks for water damage in the basement. Brad walks directly to the back of the house and peers into the back room before shaking his head and asking to see the next one.

The realtor, Pappy, thinks Brad is crazy. Nate tells him that Brad's a gardener, but he doesn't think Pappy believes him. After a full day of house hunting, Nate finally snaps.

"What the hell!" He hisses in the car back to Pappy's office. "What are you doing?"

Brad, for his part, looks sheepish. "I wasn't sure you wanted to know. But I've...I've been to our home-to-be. I don't know when, but I was - _will be_ \- there on a beautiful autumn day, late afternoon. I stood at the back of the house and looked into the closest room. You were sitting at a desk with your degree hanging on the wall and your glasses on and you just seemed...so _calm_. So, I figured if I can duplicate the view, then that's our home."

"Why didn't you say something?" Nate demands. "I feel like an idiot!"

"Don't!" Brad shakes his head. "I just thought you would enjoy doing it the regular way. I mean, you seemed so _thorough_ , and you read all those books about how to do it, and I thought you wanted to, you know, _shop_ , and not have it be inevitable."

" _Somebody_ has to ask about termites and asbestos and dry rot and sump pumps-"

"Exactly!" Brad agrees. "So let us continue as we are, and surely we will arrive separately at our mutual conclusion."

Brad's right and that's exactly what happens. The exterior is a tan stone with dark shutters and white windows. Inside the floors are a dark wood and glossed, the living room is a warm gold color and holds a comforting atmosphere. It just _fits_ , in a way Nate hadn't been expecting of a home.

As always, Brad walks straight to the back and when he reappears, they both grin at each other. Brad turns to Pappy, who looks exhausted by the two of them.

"We'll take it." He says and Pappy blinks at him in surprise.

"You're...sure?"

"Yes." Nate and Brad say at the same time. They're very sure.

 

_Saturday, July 19, 2000 (Nate is 20, Brad is 28)_

Moving day. The air in Palo Alto is hot and humid, and both Nate and Brad are sweating within the first hour. By the end of the day, though, Nate's furniture has been shoved into corners and Brad's books have been shoved into shelves.

They sit on the floor of the living room, candles lit instead of lights on, a pizza box lying between them. They laugh and talk for hours before the candles get low and Brad leads Nate upstairs to the bedroom where they undress one another and fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs. They make love for the first time in their new house and Nate feels free and excited.

His home was always Brad, but now there was a place that Brad would always return to.

 

_Friday, August 28, 2000 (Nate is 20, Brad is 29)_

Nate, Brad, and Walt take a trip to the beach for the day. Well, Nate and Walt sit in the sands and Brad teaches surf lessons for a few hours. Ray is overseas, and, like always, Walt is low. A day on the beach seemed exactly like what he needed.

"What little hair I have is full of sand." Brad says after his final lesson, coming to sit by Nate while still in his wetsuit. Nate leans over and rubs at his head, sand floating out of it like clouds.

"My ears are full of sand." Walt says. "And my unmentionables."

"I can help you with your hands, but everything else seems a bit taboo." Nate tells him. A warm breeze sweeps down the beach and Nate closes his eyes to it.

"What should we do after this?" Walt questions. They look at each other and then say,

"Beer."

 

_Tuesday, October 30, 2000 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_

Ray, Walt, Brad, and Nate are sitting around Ray and Walt's kitchen table, a Monopoly Board set up in the center. They're playing a game Walt and Ray invented called _Modern Capitalist Mind-Fuck_ , and Brad and Nate were enthusiastic to play along. It involves answering questions, getting points, accumulating money, and exploiting your fellow players. It's Ray's turn, which is always interesting because, well, he's _Ray_. He rolls the dice, gets a six, and longs on Community Chest, where he then draws a card.

"Okay, everybody." Ray says seriously. "What modern technological invention would you deep-six for the good of society?"

"Television," Nate says instantly.

"Fabric softener." Walt says.

"Motion detectors." Brad says darkly.

"And I say gunpowder." Ray grins.

"That's not exactly modern." Nate points out.

"Okay...the assembly line."

"You can't have two answers." Brad objects.

"Surely I do!" Ray grabs at his chest in offense. "What kind of lame-ass answer is 'motion detectors' anyways?"

"I keep getting ratted out by the motion detectors in the library. Twice this week I've ended up getting chased by the security guard ten seconds after I appear."

"I don't think your _own_ problems would be any less complicated by the disappearance of motion detectors." Walt says.

"Okay," Ray says loudly, drawing all attention back to him. "Nate and I each get ten points for correct answers, Walt gets five points for creativity, and Brad gets to go _backwards_ three spaces for valuing the needs of the individual over the collective needs of society."

"That puts me on Go, you idiot. Give me two hundred dollars, Banker." Walt hands it over and Ray stares down at the board in astonishment before narrowing his eyes at Brad.

"Well played." He mutters.

"My turn," Nate grabs the die and rolls a four. "Park Place. I'll buy it." In order to buy anything, you have to answer a question correctly from the Chance pile.

Brad reads the card: "Who would you prefer to have dinner with and why: Karl Marx, Rosa Luxembourg, General MacArthur, Elizabeth Windsor."

"Rosa," Nate replies after much thought.

"Why?"

"Most interesting death." Nate shrugs. Walt, Ray, and Brad confer for a moment before deciding Nate can buy Park Place. Nate hands the money to Walt and receives the deed. Brad then shakes the dice and lands on Income Tax. This stop has its own pile of cards which Brad picks from.

"Great Leap Forward."

"Fuck," Ray groans. They all hand Walt their real estate and it goes back into the bank's holdings, his own included.

"So much for Park Place." Nate sighs.

"Sorry," Brad shrugs and moves his pawn to St. James. "I'll buy it."

"My poor little St. James." Walt says sadly. Nate grabs a Free Parking card.

"What is the exchange rate of the Japanese yen against the dollar today?"

"I have no clue." Brad throws his hands in the air. "Where did that question come from?"

"Me." Ray grins devilishly.

"What's the answer?" Brad asks.

"99.8 yen to the dollar." Ray replies easily.

"Okay, no St. James, then." Brad hands the dice to Walt who rolls a four and ends up in jail. He picks up a card and finds that his crime was Insider Trading. Everyone laughs.

"That sounds more like you two." Ray waves at Nate and Brad. It's true. Brad and Nate are currently making a killing in the stock market.

In order for Walt to get out of Jail, he has to answer three questions. Ray grabs three cards from the Chance pile.

"Question the first: Name two famous artists Trotsky knew in Mexico."

"Diego Rivera and Frida Kahlo."

"Okay, question the second: How much does Nike pay its Vietnamese workers per diem to make those ridiculously expensive sneakers?"

"Uh..." Walt's face scrunches up in concentration. "I don't know...three dollars? Ten cents?"

"Which is it?" Ray raises an eyebrow. Before Walt can reply, though, there's a loud crash in the living room which makes them all jump.

"Sit down!" Brad shouts quickly and they all do, watching as Brad runs into the next room. Walt and Ray look at Nate in shock.

"What was-"

"I don't know." Nate shakes his head and then stands to follow Brad, knowing Ray and Walt will be right behind him.

In the living room, Brad is kneeling on the floor holding a bathroom towel against the head of the naked man on the carpet, who is of course Brad. He's landed on the glass coffee table which seems to have embedded itself into his head and side, causing blood to seep slowly into the carpet.

Both Brad's turn to look at Nate, one piteously, the other urgently. Nate reaches for the phone but Brad shakes his head firmly.

"Don't." He says and Nate stops.

"Holy shit," Ray breathes from the doorway, him and Walt staring in shock. Brad sighs, knowing the towel isn't really helping, and then he throws it over his other self's groin.

"Don't worry about it." Walt says quickly. "I've seen it all-"

"I try to retain a modicum of privacy." Brad snaps at him angrily. Walt looks like he's been slapped, causing Ray to leap in front of him.

"Hey, Brad, you can't just-"

"Everyone, please, _shut up_." Nate begs. He looks down at Brad, the one currently bleeding and moaning on the floor. "What happens?"

He stares over at Nate, eyes glassy. "I'll be gone in a few minutes." His voice is barely more than a whisper. He looks at the other Brad. "I want a drink."

Brad nods and runs to the kitchen, coming back with a glass full of Jack Daniels. Nate leans down and holds Brad's head while _his_ Brad tilts the glass for him to drink.

"Is that wise?" Ray asks warily.

"Don't know, don't care." Brad says, staring at himself. The bleeding Brad begins to shake violently.

"This hurts like hell." He says. "Stand back, close your eyes-"

His convulsions being electrified and he shouts for Nate just before there's a noise like the snapping of a towel and he's gone, leaving a shower of glass to cascade of the heads of everyone else.

"What the _hell?!"_ Ray shouts.

Nate is staring in horror at Brad. _What was that? That isn't normal, Brad. That was violent and ugly. What is happening to you?_

Brad's face is white and brushes himself off.

"What's with all the glass?" Ray demands. Nate helps Brad to his feet and sees that a piece of glass has cut Walt's cheek, a line of blood sliding down his cheek.

"Anything not part of my body gets left behind." Brad explains. "So, whenever I went back to, at lease all the glass is gone. They won't have to sit around and pick it out with tweezers."

"No, but we will." Ray sighs, pulling a shard of glass from Nate's hair.

 

_Sunday, November 4, 2000 (Nate is 21, Brad is 7)_

Nate brings a box of old clothes over to Todd and Jennifer's home. Jennifer is running a community fundraiser and Nate offered the clothes to get rid of. Jennifer serves him a cup of coffee and a cranberry orange muffin while they sit and talk about the fundraiser.

There's a noise in the dining room and a chair tips over. Jennifer turns from where she's been organizing the clothes and Nate blinks at her.

"Jen, I think there's a little boy under the table."

There's a giggle and Jennifer sighs. " _Brad?_ " she calls. No one answers her and she leans down to peer under the table. "Hey, buddy, can you get some clothes on?"

There's more giggling and then Brad appears from under the table, a wide grin on his face. Just as quickly as he'd appeared, he vanishes. Jennifer sits down at the table and sips at her coffee.

"Wow." Nate comments.

"That doesn't happen a lot these days. Now he's a grown up, when he comes. He doesn't come as much as he used to, though." She seems sad.

"I've never seen him go forward like that. Into the future, I mean."

"Well, you don't have a lot of future with him, yet." Jennifer replies.

"Do you miss him?" Nate asks softly, folding the wrapped of his muffin.

"I miss him, yes." Jennifer nods. "But he's grown up, now. When he comes like a little boy, it's like a ghost appearing for a second." She pauses. "Have you guys thought about kids?"

"I don't know, Jen. I guess we haven't talked about it."

"Well, you never know."

"I suppose."

At night, Nate watches Brad sleep and considers waking him. He wants to know if that's what Brad wants. If he wants a big family, or if Nate is already too much.

He rolls over and pretends to sleep, but he never actually does.

 

_Monday, December 17, 2000 (Brad is 29)_

He's found Dr. Sledge. He's a geneticist at the University of California, but he's also a philosopher. Brad is ten minutes early for his appointment and the waiting room is rather cold.

Fifteen minutes later, the receptionist tells him he can go into Dr. Sledge's office. He finds a small, ginger haired, pale man writing out notes for a file. At first glance, he looks an awful lot like Babe. He looks up and offers Brad a lopsided smile.

"Good morning, Dr. Colbert." He greets Brad. "What can I do for you? I wasn't given any information about you."

Brad sits down and says, "I have a problem with... _being_."

"I'm sorry?" He looks extremely confused.

"I have a condition which I'm told will become known as Chrono-Impairment. I have difficulty staying in the present."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I time travel." Brad says bluntly. "Involuntarily."

He stutters a little but then settles, attempting to deal with Brad in a manner befitting someone who is sane, although as soon as Brad leaves, he's probably going to call him a psychiatrist. Brad hides a smile.

"Why would you need a geneticist?" Sledge asks. "Or are you consulting me as a philosopher?"

"It's a _genetic_ disease." Brad explains. "Although it will be pleasant to have someone to chat with about the larger implications of the problem."

"Mr. Colbert, you're obviously an intelligent man...I've never heard of this disease and I can't help you."

"You don't believe me, you mean." Brad smirks.

"Right," Sledge nods, smiling back and leaning back in his chair.

"Well, I've been to quite a few doctors in my life, but this is the first time I've ever had anything to offer in a way of proof." He pulls out an envelope on the desk. "Of course no one believes me. But your brother and his wife are expecting a child next month?"

"Yes..." He frowns. "How did you know that?"

"In a few years, I look up their child's birth certificate. I travel to my husband's past and write the information down in this envelope. He gives it to me in the present and I give it to you now. Open it after their son is born."

"They're having a daughter."

"No, they're not, actually." Brad says gently. "But let's not argue. Save that envelope and open it when the child is born. Don't throw it out. After you read it, call me if you want to." He stands to leave. "Good luck,"

"Goodbye, Mr. Colbert." Dr. Sledge sounds upset, but there's nothing Brad can do about that.

Inside the elevator, Brad wonders if Sledge will just open the envelope now. Inside, he'll find a sheet of paper reading:

**_Edward Joseph Sledge_ **

**_January 12, 2001 1:22 AM_ **

**_6 lbs. 10 oz Caucasian male_ **

**_Down syndrome_ **

_Saturday, January 12, 2001, (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_

_5:39 AM_

Brad and Nate haven't slept all night. They know that in the early hours of the morning, Edward Sledge's wife went into labor. All they can do is wait and hope for a phone call.

When the phone does ring, Nate lunges forward and answers, "Hello?" A pause, then Nate hands Brad the phone.

"How did you know?" Sledge demands. " _How did you know_?"

"I'm so sorry, Eugene." Brad says earnestly. He thinks he can hear Eugene crying.

"Come to my office." He says curtly.

"When?"

"Tomorrow, nine AM." He hangs up and Brad clutches Nate to him tightly.

 


	9. Blood on the White Floor

****

_Sunday, January 13, 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29 and 8)_

Nate and Brad drive to Sledge's office in tense silence, Nate's finger squeezed in Brad's firm grip. It's freezing rain outside; the only sound in the car is the sound of the windshield wipers.

"It doesn't seem fair." Nate finally says, only five minutes from their destination.

"What?"

"Their child. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Yeah." Brad nods. "Nature isn't fair."

"And it isn't really fair that we're sort of exploiting it."

"That's not what we're doing, Nate."

"Yes, it is." Nate sighs sadly. Brad doesn't want to fight.

"Well, either way, it's too late now."

"Right,"

And they're silent once more. Brad pulls into the college parking lot and they make their way inside. 

"I'll wait here." Nate says, kissing Brad gently on the cheek and Brad goes into Sledge's office.

Brad is shocked at the difference in Eugene's face from the last time he saw him. He looks emptied and tired. There isn't the slight glint in his eyes or the easy - if not _dorky -_ smile. Brad's so accustomed to life in the air that he often forgets most people tend to enjoy more solid ground.

"Brad Colbert."

"Hello."

"Why did you come to me?" He demands. _So,_ Brad thinks _, pleasantries are over._

"Because I _had_ to come to you." Brad sighs tiredly. "It wasn't a matter of choice."

"Fate?"

"You can call it whatever you want. Things get kind of circular, at least, for me it does. Cause and effect gets a little muddled."

Eugene scrubs at his face and shifts in his seat. He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a pipe, lights it, and takes a deep inhale. Brad has never seen some smoke an actual _pipe_ before.

"How did you know?" He asks, assessing Brad across the desk.

"I told you. I saw the birth certificate."

" _When_?"

"2004."

"That's impossible." He shakes his head.

"Explain it, then." Brad challenges him.

"I _can't_!" He explodes. He waits a moment, calms himself, and then continues. "I've been trying to work it out and I just _can't_. Everything - everything was right. The hour, the date, the _weight_ , the...abnormality." He looks startled suddenly. "What if they'd named him something else? Robert or Daniel, or Sam-"

"They didn't." Brad shakes his head. "I won't go so far as to say they _couldn't_. But they didn't. All I did was reporting. I'm not a psychic."

"Do you have kids?" Eugene asks.

"No." Brad says firmly. He's tired of this question. "And I'm truly sorry about Edward. But he's a wonderful boy, I promise."

"Eddie...he couldn't figure it out, so I went and found the mistake. Their test results were switched with another couple named Sledd, that's why they thought it was a girl."

"What do you think they'd have done? If they'd known, I mean."

"I don't know." Eugene sighs. "We're a Catholic family, so I'm sure nothing would have changed what happened. It's ironic...."

"I suppose it is, yeah." Brad stares passively at him.

"How does it work?"

"What?"

"This supposed time travel thing that you supposedly do." He suddenly looks angry. "You say some magic words? Climb in a machine?"

Brad tries to explain calmly. "No, I don't _do_ anything. It just sort of happens and I can't control it. I just - One minute everything is fine, the next I'm somewhere else, some other time. Like changing channels. I just suddenly find myself in another time and place."

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" Eugene snaps.

"I want you to find out _why_ , and then I want you to _stop it_."

When Eugene smiles, it isn't friendly. "Why would you want to do that? It seems like it would be quite handy for you. Knowing all these things that other people don't."

"It's dangerous." Brad explains. "Sooner or later it's going to kill me."

"I can't say I'd really mind that right about now." Sledge shrugs. Brad understands that there isn't a point in continuing this conversation. He stands and tugs his jacket back on.

"Goodbye, Dr. Sledge."

As he's walking out the door, Nate turns to look at him. Sledge rushes to the door and says, "Brad-"

But Brad is gone before he can turn back.

"Brad, are you okay?"

Brad looks up and sees his eight-year-old self staring down at him from his bed.

"I'm fine." Brad assures him. "Really, I'm okay."

"You want some Ovaltine?"

"Sure," Brad sighs. He watches Small Brad exit and return back with two mugs of hot chocolate. They drink them in silence and then Small Brad takes them back to the kitchen and rinses them. When he comes back in again, Brad asks, "What's up?"

"Not much." Small Brad sighs. "Jennifer and Todd took me to see another doctor today."

"Hey, I saw a doctor today, too. Which one?"

"I don't remember." Small Brad shrugs, yawn sleepily. "An old guy with a lot of hair in his ears."

"How did it go?"

"He didn't believe me." Small Brad sighs.

"You should give up. None of them ever will. Well, the one I saw today believed me, but he didn't want to help."

"Why?"

"He didn't like me, I guess."

"Oh." Small Brad nods. "Do you want a blanket?"

"Sure," Brad nods. Small Brad hands him one from his bed and then curls in on himself on the bed. Brad rests on the floor and stares up at the ceiling, willing himself to get back to Nate.

*

Nate hears the door open and turns in time to see Brad coming out of Dr. Sledge's office, a red head following behind him. The red head calls Brad's name and then Brad lets out a startled noise before he disappears. Nate sighs and leans over, picking up Brad's articles of clothing and folding them neatly. When he looks back up, Dr. Sledge is gaping at him.

"Hello, Dr. Sledge. I'm Nate Colbert."

"You - Your husband-"

"Just vanished, yeah." Nate nods.

"Yes!"

"You seem surprised." Nate tilts his head at the man.

"Well-"

"Didn't he tell you? He does that." Nate sighs again. "I'm really sorry about your nephew, but Brad says he's a great kid and that he draws really well and has a huge imagination. Oh, and I guess your dog is really intelligent."

"I don't _have_ a dog."

"You will." Nate replies simply. "Just give it some time. His name is Nash."

"I'm so sorry." Eugene says, staring back at the place where Brad disappeared.

"What happened in there with you and Brad? It went badly."

"How do you know?" He frowns at Nate.

"He was stressed out, so he lost his grip on now."

"Where did he go?" He looks around as if Nate is hiding him behind his chair.

"I don't know." Nate shakes his head. "Not here. We were hoping you could help, but I guess not."

"Well, I don't see how-" Before Eugene could finish, Brad reappears, naked and muttering darkly to himself. Nate hands him the stack of clothes and watches as Brad redresses himself.

"Hey, Doc." Brad nods to Eugene, who is watching him in a mixture of fascination and horror.

"Where were you?" Nate asks.

"1971, I ended up in my old bedroom and eight-year-old me made me some Ovaltine. I think it was around one in the morning, but I'm not sure."

"You mean you became eight years old?" Eugene asks in confusion.

"No, I mean I was sitting in my old bedroom in my adopted parents' house, in 1971, just as I am, twenty-nine-years-old, and I was in the company of myself, at age eight. Drinking Ovaltine. We were chatting about the incredulity of the medical profession." Brad looks back at Nate. "Let's go, Nate. This is pointless."

"Wait!" Eugene shakes his head and continues to stare at Brad. "This is a genetic disease?"

"Yeah," Brad nods. "It's a genetic disease and we want it to _stop_. Come on, Nate." They walk out to their car and drive away. After a moment, Nate looks over to find Brad grinning out the window.

"What are you so happy about?"

"Sledge. He's totally hooked."

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah." Brad nods, pleased.

"Well, great." Nate shrugs. "But he seemed kind of dense."

"He's really not."

"Whatever you say." Nate huffs out a breath of air and turns their car towards home.

 

_Friday, January 18, 2001 (Brad is 29)_

"Do you have difficulty sleeping?" Eugene asks.

"Yes."

"Is there any particular time of day that you tend to vanish?"

"No...Well, I guess mornings seem to make it happen more often than others."

"Headaches?"

" _Yes._ " Brad nods his head firmly.

"Migraines?"

"No, more like pressure headaches. My vision distorts a little, I can't focus my eyes."

Eugene leans back in his chair. "Look, there are these things called clock genes. They govern circadian rhythms, keep you in sync with the sun, that sort of thing. We've found them in many different types of cells, all over the body, but they're especially tied to vision. You seem to experience many of your symptoms visually. The superchiasmatic nucleus of the hypothalamus, which is located right above your optic chiasm, serves as the reset button, as it were, of your sense of time - so that's what I want to begin with."

"Um," Brad blinks at him. "Okay." He watches as Eugene pulls out a syringe.

"Roll up your sleeve."

"What are you doing?" Brad asks, rolling his shirt sleeve above his elbow. Eugene doesn't answer, swabs Brad's arm and ties it off, then slides the needle into Brad's arm.

"Do you have health insurance?" Eugene asks, sliding the needle out and putting a cotton ball and Band-Aid over Brad's elbow.

"No, I pay for everything myself."

"No," Eugene shakes his head and laughs. "You can be my little science experiment and hitchhike on my NIH grant for this."

"For what?"

"We're not messing around here." Eugene pauses and observes the small vial of blood he's drawn. "We're going to have your DNA sequenced."

"I thought that took _years_."

"It does, if you're doing the whole genome. We are going to begin by looking at the most likely sites: Chromosome 17, for example." He drops the used needle into the BIOHAZARD bin. "A disease that is as disruptive as yours often appears as a kind of stutter, a repeated bit of code that basically says Bad News Ahead. Huntington's disease, for instance, is just a bunch of extra CAG triplets on Chromosome 14."

"So that's it?" Brad rubs at his cheek. "Can I run away and play now?"

"Well, I want to have your head scanned, too, but not today. I'll make an appointment for you at the hospital. MRI, CAT scan, and X-rays. I'm also sending you to someone very special to me." Brad doesn't really like the smile on his face. "Snaf has a sleep lab on campus."

"Jesus," Brad groans in realization. "Your crazy ass husband? _Fun_."

"It _is_ fun." Eugene says slyly. "It's such a great puzzle and we'll finally have the tools to find out-"

"To find out what?" Brad frowns.

"Whatever it is." He shrugs. "Whatever you are."

 _Yeah_ , Brad thinks bitterly. _What the hell_ am _I?_

_Spring 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_

Walt and Ray are adopting a child from Russia. A sweet little girl with dark red lips and wild blonde curls. When Nate sees the picture of her, he imagines that this is almost what a child of Brad's would look like.

They've discussed it. Brad's genetic makeup wouldn't be safe for a child. Nate's genetic makeup is incompatible for conception (When they find this out, Nate cries for two hours and Brad goes for a three hour walk around Palo Alto). Brad suggests adoption, like Walt and Ray, but Nate can't do it.

"It would be pretend."

"What's pretend about a real child who would be ours?" Brad asks him. They're lying in bed one night, facing each other in the dark.

"I'm sick of pretending. We pretend all the time. I want to really do this."

"We do _not_ pretend all the time." Brad argues. "What are you talking about?"

"We pretend to be normal people, having normal lives! I pretend it's perfectly okay with me that you're always disappearing who knows where! You pretend everything is okay even when you almost get killed and Sledge doesn't know what the hell to do about it! We can't have a child of our own and-" He breaks off into a sob.

Brad is so tired of watching Nate cry. It makes him feel helpless and afraid.

"Nate..." He reaches out to comfort him but he gets out of bed and grabs his car keys.

"Where are you going?" Brad demands, following Nate to the front door.

"I don't know."

"Nate-" The door swings shut and Brad sits down on the floor and leans his head back against the door. He's so tired of losing.

 

_Thursday, June 18, 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_

His mother is finally asleep, and Nate leans back in the uncomfortable hospital chair, exhausted and terrified. All night his mother has been calling out for Nate's father, for Nate, for Walt, for Dick and Nixon and Uncle Harry. Nate is so, so scared.

Nate is just about to doze off when the air conditioner kicks on above his head and is accompanied by the sound of the monitor next to his mother's bed. He gasps, lunges towards his mother, and her laborious breathing that has been haunting Nate for days has stilled.

"Nate, I-" Dick stops in the doorway and takes in Nate's tearstained face and Jane's unmoving chest.

"She's gone." Nate whispers desperately.

 

_Friday, June 26, 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_

Walt and Ray return with Natalia Jane Person just in time for a funeral. She’s gorgeous, her blonde curls piled into a ponytail and her hand perpetually tucked into Ray’s. She’s become attached to Walt and Ray in the short five days she’s spent with them. She’s four and her eyes are huge and Nate falls halfway in love with her the moment they all appear. She doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on, but she understands that it’s sad and everyone is very quiet.

The priest says his eulogy and Nate and Walt squeeze each other's hand so tight their knuckles are white with the strain.

At the house afterwards, Nate pulls Brad away from the large group of mourners and says, "I need your help."

"Sure, anything." Brad nods, knowing that he would do anything Nate asked on a day such as this.

"Come with me," he pulls Brad upstairs and they slip inside his mother's bedroom. Over at the desk, Nate puts his hand on the top drawer handle.

"I want to open it but I can't find the keys."

"I see," Brad nods and gets down on one knee. He pulls a paper clip off the desk and slides it into the keyhole, wiggling until he hears the official click and then the drawer slides open easily. Nate's face is white as Brad stands back up.

"I'll leave you to it." Brad whispers, leaning down and placing a kiss on Nate's temple before slipping out the door.

The papers inside the drawer are a scattered mess. Some of them are grocery lists, there are notes such as: _Do not ask C about D._ Or: _Remind Nixon of luncheon Sat._ There are small doodles and illegible squiggles of words. Some have random phrases like: _Hair parted as if with a knife._ Or: _Unable to contend with_. And: _If I am quiet it will pass me by._

There are heavily marked pages and crossed out lines. There are poems carved into pieces of paper.

_At the moment_

_all hope is weak_

_and small._

_Music and beauty_

_are salt in my sadness;_

_a white void rips through my ice._

_Who could have said_

_that the angel of sex_

_was so sad?_

_Or known desire_

_would melt this vast_

_winter night into_

_a flood of darkness._

_The spring garden:_

_a ship of summer_

_swimming through_

_my winter vision._

**_4/9/86_ **

The year she lost the baby and attempted to kill herself in their bathroom. Nate clenches his jaw and sets the poem aside. He now understands how it was with his mother.

He also sets aside a poem written for Walt and Ray before coming across one written for him.

_A Garden Under Snow: for nathaniel_

_now the garden is under snow_

_a blank page our footprints written on_

_nathaniel who was never mine_

_but always belonged to himself_

_Sleeping Beauty_

_a crystalline blanket_

_~~he waits~~ _

_this is his spring_

_this is his awakening_

_he is waiting_

_we are all waiting_

_~~for a kiss~~ _

_the improbable shapes of ~~leaves~~ roots_

_~~i never thought~~ _

_my ~~child~~ son_

_his ~~almost~~ face_

_a garden, waiting_

Nate isn't sure how long he sits in that room, the paper gripped in his hands, a few tear splatters on the paper. He knows that the light that had slanted through the window when he'd first come in has dimmed and almost slipped away.

"Nate," Brad looks inside the room and stops when he sees Nate. Nate blinks over at him, tears staining his cheeks.

"She wrote me a poem."

Brad crosses the room in three steps and holds Nate until the light is completely gone.

 

_Thursday, July 3, 2001 (Brad is 29)_

He arrives to Shelton's sleep lab exhausted, per Eugene's orders. Merriell is a curly haired demon spawn, but he's good at what he does so Brad doesn't complain as much as he usually would. Snafu smirks like the little shit he is while his technician, Bill, tapes wires to his head and chest and arms. Bill smirks only slightly less than Snafu, which isn't in any way comforting.

"They gave you a grant for this? I wouldn't offer either of you a dollar." Brad comments to them both after Leyden has scratched him 'accidentally' for the third time in the chest while attaching the wires.

"I'm very persuasive." Shelton smiles, his teeth predatory. Brad isn't used to feeling like prey.

A little after eight in the morning, Brad finally passes out and Bill and Snafu somehow manage to become professionals.

Brad dreams of a small, feather-haired boy running through the woods and Brad can't catch him. The boy falls into a river and is splashing, crying out for help. Brad doesn't think, he jumps in and grabs him and the boy is clinging to Brad, but the river suddenly becomes a wavy ocean and Brad is trying to hold the boy above the water while staying afloat and he's thrashing and calling for help and-

"Shit, he's bleeding!"

"Jesus!"

There's blood in the ocean and Brad can't find the boy and everything is-

"What happened?"

"He's ripped off all the electrodes! Grab him, Bill!"

"Help me get him back on the bed-"

Brad blinks into the too bright lab and blinks as fire and darkness loom above him. He blinks again and can just make out Eugene and Shelton's worried faces staring at him. Eugene looks pale and concerned, but Shelton looks triumphant.

"Did you get it?" Brad asks drowsily. He turns his head to see Bill holding a towel to his arm, trying to stop the bleeding in his arm.

"It was perfect." Eugene nods.

"Great," Brad says and then passes out.

 

_Sunday, March 19, 1990 (Nate is 13, Brad is 29)_

Brad appears in the Meadow angry and defeated. He sees the clothes box under its usual bush and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a green sweatshirt. He eats the Snicker bar inside and steps out to find Nate lying in the grass. He's around twelve, Brad guesses, and he isn't sure if he can do this. He isn't sure he can face a happy, youthful Nate while there's an angry, crying Nate in his own time.

"Brad!" Nate says when he turns his head. He pushes himself into a standing position and runs to give Brad a hug. Brad pats him on the shoulder and sighs. He turns and starts pacing, Nate watching him carefully.

"Did I do something?" He asks, and he sounds desperate. "What did I do? Brad, please, can you - Can you talk to me? Please, just tell me what I did and-"

"No, Nate." Brad scrubs at his face and sits down in the grass. A moment later, Nate does the same. "I was just...I got upset and I came here."

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you." Brad said. "I was trying to walk away from you in my time." Brad laughs humorlessly. "So I guess it serves me right that I'd come here."

"Why were you trying to get away from me?"

"I really can't tell you, Nate. We just had a fight."

"What were we fighting about?" He sniffs, his nose running.

"Do you have a cold?"

"Yes, now tell me what we were fighting about."

"It all began when the Walt's pony, Lacey, ran away and kicked this butcher in the kneecap-"

" _Brad!_ " Nate is getting angry and for some strange, _sick_ reason, this makes Brad glad.

"Yes?"

"Just _once_ , would you stop making fun of me and tell me something I am asking you?"

"I _can't_."

Without warning, Nate's hand slaps across Brad's cheek. It's a lot harder than one would suspect small Nate would be capable of. Brad blinks, surprised.

"Hit me again."

" _What_?" Nate asks incredulously. "I was trying to _hurt_ you. Why do you want me to hit you?"

"I _want_ you to hurt me! Please!" Brad is begging and he doesn't care.

"What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Everything!" Brad shouts exasperatedly. "Everything is awful right now and I can't seem to _feel_ anything anymore."

"What is everything? What's going on?"

"Please stop asking.

"Then _tell me_!" Nate demands and his face is very close. Brad closes the distance and kisses him roughly, his hand wrapped around Nate's upper arm. Nate resists and Brad releases him. Nate turns his back on Brad, his shoulders hunched, trying to make himself look small.

"That wasn't very nice." He says quietly.

Brad can't figure out what is wrong with him. The Nate in front of him is _not_ the Nate he's upset with.

"I'm so sorry, Nate." Brad touches his hand and Nate lets him, though he doesn't turn around. "I'm so very sorry. It isn't you, Nate. I swear."

He turns around then and he's crying. Brad tugs him closer and Nate cries into his shoulder for a little while. When he finally calms down, he mumbles into Brad's neck, "You've never kissed me before."

Fuck. Brad leans back a little to look at Nate and his face must look funny because Nate laughs a little. Brad understands then that he is probably the biggest idiot that has ever graced planet Earth.

"Just - Okay, Nate, just forget that, okay? Just erase it. It never happened. Let's just - Come here, take two, okay?"

Nate bites his bottom lip and his eyes flick to Brad's mouth. Brad takes his hand and pulls him a little closer. He then cradles Nate's face and kisses him softly, trying to put his whole heart into it, so Nate knows that no matter what, he will always love him.

 

_Wednesday, July 27, 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 29)_

After their fight, Brad had gone outside and he hadn't come home in four hours. Nate tries not to worry, but he can't focus on work while Brad is still gone. It’s been their worst fight yet. Nate desperately wants to begin a family, but Brad is stuck on the idea that he’s too unreliable and a child would just make it more evident how distant he is in time.

Nate is cutting up peppers in the kitchen for a salad when Brad finally comes inside, dressed in clothes he hadn’t left in. So, he had _left_ left, then.

Nate doesn’t greet him as he usually would because he’s still upset. Brad slides into one of the stools against their counter and looks like he wants to say something. Nate waits him out, and after about ten minutes of silence, Brad finally says,

“Nate?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?”

“Vividly,” Nate nods curtly.

“I’m really sorry.”

Nate’s hand stops mid-slice and he looks over at Brad. So, almost a decade later and he finally understands Brad’s erratic behavior.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Brad.” He says quietly.

“I – I can’t, Nate. My answer won’t change.” Brad sighs. “I love you more than I can describe, but I can’t give you this. I’m sorry.”

Nate bows his head, a few teardrops sliding out from underneath his lashes. Brad stands and wraps himself around Nate and they stand quietly for a long time.

_Monday, August 28, 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 30)_

Nate is wearing his Clark Kent glasses and an oversized sweatshirt on the couch. He's been fighting a cold for a few weeks now and is exhausted. Brad has never been more in love with this man.

The phone rings and Brad turns on the couch to pick it up.

"Hello?" There's a reply and then, "Really?"

He jumps up and grabs the nearest newspaper and a pen and starts scribbling something down. Nate frowns and leans over to see what he's writing.

**_4 genes: per4 timeless1, Clock, new gene=time traveler?? Chrom=17x2, 4, 25, 200+ repeats TAG, sex linked? no, +too many dopamine recpts, what proteins????_ **

Nate suddenly realizes, Eugene has done it. He's figured it out. Nate suddenly feels much better than he has the last few weeks.

When Brad hangs up, he's grinning like a fool and Nate is sure he looks similar.

"What happens next?" Nate asks.

"He's going to clone the genes and put them into mice."

"He's going to _what_?"

"He's going to make time traveling mice and then cure them." Brad laughs and then suddenly they're kissing and laughing and Nate is so happy that the future is soon going to be here.

 

_Tuesday, August 31, 2001 (Nate is 21, Brad is 39)_

Brad sees Nate across the street and smiles softly. He isn't sure where he is in time, but Nate is here, so he can't be anywhere too bad. He crosses the street and stops, seeing that Nate is watching a mother and her son licking ice cream cones in the park across the street where Brad just came from.

So, that's where he is.

He approaches Nate from behind and suddenly leans forward and kisses his right cheek before sliding to his left. Nate turns first to his right, startled, before whipping around to see Brad.

"I thought you had a meeting with Eugene." Nate says, frowning. Brad shrugs, smiling.

"I probably am. However, _I_ am supposed to be at work in 2009."

Nate chuckles and grabs his hand. They walk down the street and Brad observes Nate's tired looking face. He supposes that they're still fighting about a child whatever year this is.

"How are you?" Brad asks slowly, nudging Nate a little with his elbow. Nate sighs.

"I'm okay." He doesn't sound it, though. "I just don't...why won't you say yes? Why can't we _try_? I feel like you're just being an asshole and I don't understand _why_." Nate looks close to tears and Brad tugs him into the nearest coffee place. They order black coffee and sit in a back corner booth. Brad holds Nate's hands and takes a deep breath.

"I don't do this, Nate. You know I don't, but I'm going to. Just this once."

Nate knows absolutely what he's talking about. He's going to tell Nate something important, something about the _future_.

"Please," Nate whispers. He needs to know.

"We don't have a child, Nate."

Nate's face closes down and he moves to take his hands away but Brad grips a little tighter.

"Let me finish!" He commands. Nate looks down at the table and Brad rubs his thumb over Nate's knuckles. "We don't have a child of our own, but we like to think of her as a part of our little family."

"What do you mean?" Nate looks back up with a frown.

"Just - give me - _him_ \- whatever, you know what I'm talking about. Give the Brad of now a break. I can't handle kids, Nate. You have always known this. I'm not good with _normal_ kids. But you've seen me with my younger self."

"I don't understand." Nate shakes his head, confused.

"There's this little girl who is _extraordinary,_ Nate. And we love her so much and we both play a huge part in her life. So, just give it a chance, okay?"

"Brad, I don't-"

"She's amazing, Nate. So, just, wait for her a little longer, okay?"

Nate gives him the tactical look. "But she isn't ours?"

"She is very _much_ ours, just not in the way you're pushing for right now. Okay?" There's something there, Nate knows, in the way he says this. Something he isn't saying that maybe he _should_.

"I - Okay." Nate nods, once, and Brad lets out a sigh of relief. "Do you know? I mean, the Brad of now."

“No.” Brad shakes his head. “But…what’s the date?”

“August 31, 2001.” Nate says instantly.

“Okay,” Brad nods. “It’s soon, Nate. So, just try and be patient, okay?”

“Okay.” Nate promises, feeling a big weight lifting off his shoulders.

 

_Monday, April 18, 2009 (Nate and Brad are 30)_

Brad isn’t exactly dressed for the times, but he supposes he can pass. It’s very rare that he makes it into the future, but today seems to be the day he can actually explore. Brad wishes he could get back home because it’s happening soon, the day that makes history and changes the world, and he doesn’t exactly want to _miss it_.

He wanders into the Newberry Library and prays to see someone who knows him and actually _knows_ that he has a special talent. It would be a little strange to run into Vera Leckie, for example.

There are children wandering through the shelves, selecting books and whispering to each other across the table. Brad turns down the third aisle of books to go to the office and find a phone when he stops at the sight of blonde curls.

The small girl turns and gapes at him. Her big curls frame her lovely round face, her lips are still dark red and she’s turned into a sort of bombshell. She’s going to be a real heartbreaker when she gets a little older which means Walt and Ray aren’t exactly going to know what to do.

“Brad!” She exclaims, running for him and hugging him tightly. Brad hugs Natalia back and kisses her cheek, even though he doesn’t know her all that well where he is in time.

“Talia, how are you?”

“I’m good.” She grins up at him. “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“What do you-“

“Nat!” They both turn to see a boy peering at both of them in surprise. “Uh, sorry, I’m Floyd. Um, Nat, Mrs. Janis says we’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Tab.” She smiles at him and he blushes dark red before scurrying away. Brad hides his smile. Maybe she already is a heartbreaker.

“What did you mean you haven’t seen me in forever?”

She’s quiet for a long time after he asks this and Brad starts to get nervous.

“You’ve been gone for three months now.”

Brad frowns at her.  “What do you mean?”

“I’m not supposed to say. _You_ told me that when I started.”

“When you started what?”

Natalia shakes her head and then gasps. “Oh! Nate! I should call Nate!” She digs in her pocket and produces a cell phone excitedly. She taps in the number and then places the phone to her ear.

“Nate? Hi! No, I’m at the library with my class. No, everything is fine. Listen, Nate…no! _Brad is here_!” She sounds so happy. “Yeah! Here, I’ll let you talk to him.” She hands the phone out for him and Brad hesitantly puts it to his ear.

“Nate?”

“ _Brad!”_ Nate sounds so relieved, so _happy_. Brad doesn’t understand what’s going on. “Oh, god, come home!”

“I’ll try, but-“

“Where are you coming from?”

“2001,” Brad answers. “Right before the attacks.”

“Oh,” Nate seems to be thinking it through. “So you don’t know yet.”

“Don’t know _what_?” Brad says, frustrated. “Why are you two acting so strange? And what does Natalia mean I’ve been gone for two years?”

“Brad, this really isn’t – Listen, I’m coming right now. Just wait there, okay?”

“Okay,” Brad says and Nate is hanging up before he can say anything else. He looks at Natalia. “He’s coming to the library.”

“Cool!” She grins.

“Natalia, what did you mean I’ve been gone?”

“Well,” She bites her bottom lip. “Some stuff happens and you disappeared one day and didn’t come back.” She looks sad suddenly. “It was so scary and Nate got really depressed.”

This pierces Brad and he’s suddenly terrified. “What stuff?”

“Look, Brad, you told me I couldn’t tell you stuff like this!”

“I need to know, Nat. And what did you mean by when you _started_?”

“I-“ She stops and sees something on the other side of the book shelves. “He’s here!”

Brad follows Natalia back towards the front of the library, but he begins to feel nauseous and he knows that he’s going to be gone soon.

“Brad!” Nate is running for him. He looks older, his hair is longer than it usually is and he looks tired, but he’s so damn _happy_ that when Brad reaches him, they’re kissing and crying and just like that, Brad is gone.

 


	10. Sudden Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I am so, so sorry this has taken so long to post. Secondly, I am so, so sorry it is this incredibly short of a chapter. I just needed to post it to remind myself that I have something I need to finish. Please don't hate me!

_Tuesday, September 11, 2001 (Nate is 22, Brad is 30)_

Brad materializes onto the floor of his and Nate's house. His head is spinning from travelling, but also from the overwhelming information he had gleaned in the previous few minutes. What the hell had Nate and Natalia been _talking_ about?

"Brad?"

Brad rolls over on the floor, winded, and sees Nate standing hesitantly in the doorway of the living room. He seems unsure.

"Yes?" Brad asks slowly.

"Are you okay?"

"Sure." Brad slowly pushes himself up off the floor.

"Are you sure?" Nate asks warily. "It's just...you look like you're going to vomit."

"I'm fine, Nate." Brad assures him, kissing his forehead as he passes to go find the clothes he'd lost when he travelled from the bedroom. Nate follows him.

"You're lying." He says simply. Brad sighs, silently cursing Nate's Government Voice.

"I'm not." Brad tells him firmly. "I am just fine. I'm not going to puke."

"That's not - Brad, where were you?"

"With you." Brad shrugs. Nate's eyes immediately soften and Brad feels a little guilty. Nate thinks he was with his younger self, not some strange, unknown Nate from the future. Nate looks over at the clock.

"Soon?" He asks.

"Soon." Brad confirms, pulling on his sweatpants and then going out to the kitchen to make them both coffee. When it is finished, he pours them both cups and finds Nate sitting on the couch in the living room watching CNN.

"It's going to be about another hour." Brad tells him. Nate shrugs.

"You said everything changes after today." He replies, taking his mug from Brad's hands. "I want to spend the next hour pretending it's not. That nothing will ever change."

"Okay." Brad says, sitting down next to his husband. Nate's feet slide under his thighs, frozen toes on heated skin. Nate is tense, but he makes mindless small talk. Brad keeps looking at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. Usually, when you are waiting, time goes by slowly. Not this time, it seems.

"Brad?"

Brad blinks over at his husband. Nate is watching him carefully.

"Yes?"

"Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Brad wraps his fingers around Nate's ankle and squeezes. Brad glances at the clock and then sits up straight. "It's time."

Nate sits up, too, and turns the sound up. Suddenly, the commerical cuts out and CNN is back. Nate sees sky, white, flames, smoke, building on fire.

"We're not sure what's happened."

A few more minutes tick by, a few more, and then a second plane, crash, smoke, fire, screaming-

"Oh my god," the news anchor is saying softly, horrified. "Oh my god."

 

_Sunday, October 1, 2001 (Nate is 22, Brad is 30)_

The phone rings in the middle of the night and Nate reaches over groggily.

"'Lo?" He murmurs, still half asleep.

"Nate?" He blinks his eyes open at the sound of his twin's panicked voice.

"Walt? What is it?" He sits up in bed, feeling Brad shift next to him.

"It's Natalia. She's gone, Nate. Ray went to check on her and she _isn't here_!"

"Okay, just, don't panic. Brad and I will be over in a minute."

"Hurry!" The line clicks over and Nate leaps out of bed.

"What's going on?" Brad asks, squinting at him in the dark of the room.

"Natalia is missing."

Nate isn't sure what it is, but Brad is suddenly out of bed in a flash and rushing to pull his discarded jeans on. He seems...panicked. As panicked as Walt had on the phone. Nate is worried, of course, but Natalia is probably outside, or hiding. She doesn't know. She doesn't understand what-

" _Nate_!" Brad snaps. "Let's _go_."

 

Ray is standing on the front porch when Brad and Nate pull up outside the house. His arms are crossed over his chest, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched, but he seems...resigned.

"Have you found her?" Nate asks as they walk towards him. Ray's eyes flick to Brad before settling back on him.

"You should come inside." He says. Brad and Nate looks at each other and then follow the shorter man into the house. Walt is standing in the kitchen and a small figure is huddled in a chair at the table, a large quilt wrapped around her tiny frame, a cup of hot cocoa settled in her small, trembling hands.

Walt's face is pale and drawn and he shares a silent look with Ray before looking at Nate and Brad.

"Natalia," he says. "Tell Uncle Nate and Brad what happened."

The small girl turns, her eyes rimmed red and cheeks tear stained.

"I- I woke u-up and went t-to go get some w-w-water." She looks over at Walt, who kneels down and takes her hands into his own, nodding for her to keep going.

"I went d-down the hallway and then I was on the f-floor of the orphanage i-in Starorusskiy. The n-nun was singing m-me to s-sleep but I was littler th-than I am n-now. I started to cry and sh-she looked u-up at me and then I came back and d-daddy and p-p-papa were up-upset-"

"She time travelled." Ray says monotonously from behind them. Nate gapes at him and then at the small girl. It's Brad, though, who speaks next. He steps across the room and kneels down in front of her chair. Walt moves aside so it is only Brad and Natalia.

"Do you know what happened to you, Natalia?"

"N-no." She shakes her head, curls bouncing in the gleam of the kitchen lights.

"Okay." Brad sighs and then looks over at Ray. "She needs to go to bed, she's exhausted from travelling." Ray opens his mouth but Brad holds up a hand. "Trust me, I remember my first time. I passed out as soon as I got back, I'm surprised she can still open her eyes. Tomorrow," he looks back at the little girl. "I'm going to take you for ice cream and we're going to talk about what happened. Is that okay with you?"

She pauses, then nods slowly, her eyes never leaving Brad's face.

"You believe me?" She whispers.

"Of course." Brad's face softens. "Of _course_. Now, let's go to bed, sweetheart." He takes her hand and brings her to her bedroom. When they're gone, Walt stands and walks over to Ray, grabbing him and hugging him tightly. Nate watches the way Ray kisses his brother's temple, rubs his shoulder blade and holds on just as tight.

"She's going to be okay." Ray promises him. Nate feels like he's intruding, so he goes to the door and pulls on his jacket.

Brad comes back and looks over at Ray and Walt. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." He says.

When they get home, they don't say anything. They take off their clothes and crawl under their covers where they hold each other for the rest of the night.

 

A week later, after Brad and Natalia have had three visits where they talk about travelling and everything that entails, Nate is hit with a startling realization; this is what Brad had meant. The extraordinary girl who Brad loves and Nate considers his own. It's Natalia.


	11. Not All Roses Are Red

_Sunday, December 23, 2001 (Nate is 22, Brad is 30)_

Nate is sitting in the food court of the mall with Eugene and Merriell. Brad has taken Edward, whom Gene and Shelton were babysitting, to walk him around so he'd fall asleep, while Nate drinks coffee with the two men.

"I hate Christmas." Eugene says simply, sipping at his tea. Merriell snickers and squeezes his husband's knee but otherwise says nothing.

"You and Brad both." Nate laughs.

"Does he?" Eugene raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know that."

"Is he following his drug regimen?" Merriell asks slowly.

"I think so." Nate shrugs. "As closely as he can, I mean. He's been travelling a lot lately."

"How much is a lot?" Eugene asks.

"Every few days."

"Why doesn't he _tell_ me these things?" Eugene snaps exasperatedly.

"I think he's afraid you're going to get so upset you'll quit." Nate tells him.

"He's the only test subject I _have_!" They hadn't told him about Natalia. "I mean, I'm trying to do as best I can, but we honestly have nothing to go on."

"He's stopped coming to the lab, too." Merriell adds thoughtfully.

"That's because, even though he won't admit it, you scare the shit out of him." Nate giggles.

"Whatever," he mumbles, tossing his coffee into his mouth and throwing the empty cup into the trash.

"Hey, we're back." Brad says, walking towards them with Edward's small body cradled in his arms. Nate smiles.

"How do you _do_ that?" Shelton demands, scowling up at the man.

"Magic," Brad grins. "Just like everything else about me."

 

_Friday, August 11, 2009 (Brad is 30)_

"So you think I'm...dead?" Brad asks cautiously. He's sitting with Natalia on the porch of Walt and Ray's house. The two men are out to dinner, leaving Natalia home alone.

"We don't know _what_ to think." Natalia shrugs, curls bouncing. "You just...it's complicated. I don't know how to explain what all happened. Oh, and thanks for the videos. They're really helpful." _Videos_? "I can do the Yale and the Master, but the Walters is giving me some problems.

Locks. She's talking about picking locks.

"Great," Brad nods thoughtfully. He's debating on if he should call Nate. He probably misses him, if he's been gone for two years. But, for some reason, he feels like it would only hurt Nate more. Brad can't stay, after all.

"CPD," Natalia says out of nowhere.

"What?"

"Dr. Sledge figures it out, you know? CPD, is what it is. Chrono-Displaced Person."

"I'm not - it's only 2001 where I am. I don't-"

"I know." Natalia shrugs again.

"Do I show up often?"

"No." Natalia shakes her head. "Or, at least, if you do, we never see you. It's been a few months now, and that was the first time since you'd disappeared."

"How old were you when-"

"I was ten." Almost five years from where Brad is. _Jesus_.

"How is Nate?"

"He's okay, I guess. Sad."

"Oh,"

"Dr. Sledge says I'm a prodigy."

"Why does he say that?" Brad frowns at her. She grins happily.

"I can go when and where I want."

"Can you _not_ go when you want to?" Brad asks enviously.

"Well, no." She frowns. "But it's fun, even though it's inconvenient. It drives daddy nuts." Ray. She's definitely talking about Ray.

"Natalia, who are you - Brad!" Walt is staring down at him and Ray appears next to him.

"Hi, dad." Natalia smiles.

"Shit," Brad can feel himself starting to go. "I gotta go. Nice to see you guys!"

"Where are you coming from?" Ray asks in a rush.

"2001. I just started teaching Natalia-" and he's gone.

 

_Saturday, September 30, 1996 (Nate is 18, Brad 33)_

Nate is sitting in the Meadow, waiting, when he hears a branch snap and the familiar sound of Brad cursing. A minute or two later, the man appears from behind the trees wearing a suit jacket, dress shirt, and dress pants. He is frowning deeply.

"Why?" He asks, gesturing to his clothes.

"It's my birthday."

"Happy birthday!" Brad says quickly, sitting down next to him in the grass. "I'd have brought a present, but you know that's not exactly possible." He looks down at his suit again. "We're not getting married today, right? Because I'm positive that our anniversary is in October."

"You can't remember the date?" Nate raises an eyebrow. "How unbelieavably _male_ of you."

"I'm not _telling_ you, asshole." Brad scoffs. Nate laughs. Then his face slowly drops.

"Today is the last day."

"The last day...?"

"This is the last date, Brad. I don't see you again until I officially meet you."

"Oh..."

"We planned this, Brad. The last time you were here? We talked it through."

"You may have talked it over with a version of me, but unfortunately that version has not appeared in my lifetime yet. I haven't been there, Nate."

"Oh." Nate sighs.

"What did we have planned, exactly?"

"We decided to have sex." Nate says, his cheeks turning rose red. "We've...I mean, you've done this with me before."

"Of course, Nate. We're _married_."

Nate doesn't answer, just watches Brad's face closely. Brad smiles softly at his young face.

"It's beautiful every time I make love to you, Nate. It's amazing. And...I can be so gentle for you, Nate. I love you."

Nate still looks nervous, but he leans forward and kisses Brad, crawling into his lap. Brad's hands clutch tightly at his waist before looking into Nate's face.

"I'm a little afraid." Nate admits, hiding his face then into Brad's neck.

Brad laughs loudly. "That's okay." He promises him. "I swear that when we finally meet, you practically rape me. You're quite talented at this, actually."

"I am?" Nate leans back to stare at him, tactical look in full force.

"You are." Brad nods.

 

Nate is laying in the grass, eyes closed, stark naked. Brad watches him closely, looking for any sign that what they've just done was a horrible idea. Nate slowly blinks over at him, looking a little stunned but otherwise pleased.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Nate breathes.

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Brad frowns. "Did you-"

"It was good, Brad. It was _so_ good." He grins, but then his lip starts to wobble and he's crying. Brad panics and lunges for him, holding him tightly to his chest and willing this to go away.

"Shh, Nate, it's okay. What's wrong?"

"You're going away." He whispers miserably. "I'm not going to see you."

"It's less than two years, Nate. You can do that, right? Two years?"

"Why am I always the one having to wait." Nate demands.

"Because you have perfect DNA and you aren't constantly being tossed around in time. Also, you've known me your whole life, Nate." Brad laughs. "I only meet you when I'm twenty-seven. I have to wait that many years-"

"You don't live knowing about it, though. You're free to sleep with anyone, anytime-"

"So are you, Nate." Brad reminds him. "You're just as free as me, if not more so. Besides, it's all emotionless and practice for when you crash land in my life and everything changes."

"I only ever want you, Brad." Nate whispers.

"Good."

"Please just give me a hint." He begs. "Tell me _something_ about where to find you."

"One hint: California."

"That's a fucking huge area, Brad! Specifics!"

"Have faith, Nate." Brad chuckles. "It all happens as it's supposed to, this time around."

"Are we happy?"

"Insane with happiness." Brad assures him softly. "We are also unhappy for reasons neither of us can do anything about. Like separation."

"So, all the time you're here now you're not with me then?"

"Not exactly." Brad thinks how best to explain. "I may end up missing only ten minutes, maybe ten days. There's no concrete rules. And that's what makes it so hard. I end up in dangerous situations and I come back to you a little worse for wear and messed up, and you worry _constantly_ when I'm gone. It's sort of like marrying a police officer."

"Walt's boyfriend enlisted in the Marines."

"Yeah, like joining the Marines." Brad nods. He tries to count how old he is in real time. "Nate?"

"Brad."

"When you meet me, for real, remember that I won't know you; please don't be upset when you see me and I treat you like a complete stranger. For me, you're brand new and shiny, something not quite real. And please don't try and throw everything at me at one. Have mercy, Nate."

"I will!" Nate promises. "Please stay!"

"I wish I could."

"Thank you, Brad...for everything."

"I love you, Nate."

"I love you, too."

"Be good." Brad says, and then he is gone.

 

_Thursday, February 22, 2004 (Nate is 25, Brad is 33)_

Nate's fingers fly rapidly across the keyboard of his computer. This brief is due in the morning for the press and if he doesn't send it to Senator Kippling by noon-

He's startled out of his work by the sound of humming coming up the stairs. _Finally_ , he thinks. He was beginning to get nervous.

Brad swings into his office with a lazy grin, his face flushed. He rarely looks this happy when it's so cold outside. Nate thinks and then takes a guess: "September 30, 1996."

"Yes!" Brad laughs and takes three giant leaps across the room, lifting Nate out of his chair and swinging him around. Nate laughs and smacks him lightly in the shoulder. Brad sets him down. "Why didn't you _tell_ me? I've been needlessly wondering all these years about you."

"But you didn't know, so I couldn't tell you." Nate smiles at him, so glad he's back.

"God, you're amazing. How long was I gone?"

"Almost the whole day."

"Was it worth it?" Brad asks honestly, kneeling down in front of Nate where he's seated in his desk chair. "A day of anxiety in exchange for a few beautiful hours?"

"Always." Nate nods. "It was one of the best days of my life."

"What happened after I left?"

"I picked everything up and went back to the house. I was glad I didn't run into anyone, because I was...still sort of crying. I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't really talk to anyone that summer, not even Walt, and I slept a lot. I kind of curled in on myself. I stopped eating and my mother made me go see a therapist. I started eating again and wrote you letters which I immediately burned. I felt so pathetic. I kept going out to the Meadow to wait, just to see, but of course you were never there.

"Then, in August, my father told me if I didn't 'perk up' there was no way in hell I was going to college in the fall and I did, because my whole goal was getting into California to find you. School was great, too. I felt more free, now that I wasn't under the watchful eyes of my parents and Dick and Nixon.  By the time I actually _did_ run into you, I was finally getting things back on track. Which is good. I wouldn't have wanted you to see me any other way. I got asked out a bit-"

"Yeah?"

"Sure."

"And did you? Go out, I mean." Brad asks curiously.

"A few times. Mostly for research purposes or because I was furious that somewhere in the same state you were unknowingly cheating on me with some other girl. It didn't work out though, dating. I got bored too easily and I started pissing the guys off by checking my watch all the time."

"Any girls?"

"No," Nate shrugs. "Is that weird? That I'm gay, but that even that never seemed to-"

"You loved me." Brad says simply. "I'm sorry I couldn't be that way at twenty-seven, too."

"Rationally, I know that it wasn't possible for you to be that way, but I appreciate the apology." He thinks about that night, god, so long ago, when That Which Shall Never Be Mentioned Again happened.

"Nate?"

"Yes?"

"You seemed very sad just now. Did I say something?"

"No, I - I did something, though."

"Okay..."

"I kissed someone. I kissed someone a lot." Brad stares at him.

"Who?"

Nate swallows. "Ray."

"What?" Brad gapes at him. " _When_? _Why?_ "

"We were both drunk. Walt and he were having a fight and Walt left and - it was in 1997."

"Oh, Jesus, Nate, don't _do_ that to me! I thought you were talking about _recently_ kissing someone."

"Walt and Ray made up that night. It was...well, Walt doesn't know. Walt will _never_ know, we have both decided."

 

_Saturday, March 2, 1997 (Nate is 18)_

"Nate."

Nate startles from where he was pulling a mug from the cupboard of their apartment. He turns to see Ray standing hesitantly in doorway to the kitchen. Seeing him the the apartment fills Nate with both relief and horror. Brad. Brad will _kill him_. But Ray being there means-

"You and Walt made up?"

"Yeah," Ray shuffles awkwardly before squaring his shoulders and staring at Nate. "Look, Nate, about last night-"

"Can we please not talk about this." Nate pleads, rubbing at his temples.

"I love Walt, Nate." Ray tells him earnestly. "I love your brother and I'm going to marry him and last night I found out I was being sent overseas and Walt was pissed and-"

"Ray, I get it." Nate nods. "We were both drunk and you love my brother. You called me Walt last night." Nate laughs and after a moment, Ray joins them.

"I'm really sorry, Nate. I love you, and all, but I _really love_ Walt, and-"

"Ray, I don't have feelings for you." Nate tells him. Ray blinks.

"Then why did you-"

"I'm in love with someone else, too, Ray. I was pretty much doing the exact same thing."

"Really?" Ray looks intrigued. "Nate, I haven't seen you with _anyone_ -"

"Look, do we really need to discuss this right now?"

"What's his name? Is it Brad? Because you totally called me Brad last night."

"He's...tall. Blond? Blue eyes, um..."

"I think I know who you're talking about. I've seen him. Well, no, I mean, someone who looks like the guy you're describing. But I'm pretty sure he's too old to be who you're talking about. his name was Brad, though."

Nate's heart starts beating double-time. "Where? Where did you see him?"

"I don't know. Just around some of the clubs in Palo Alto. Look, Nate, there's no way he's your guy. He's a maniac, never around when you need him. He is a mess on legs, not at all what you need."

"What's his last name?"

"I don't know, Nate." Ray looks exasperated. "He's not your guy."

Nate smiles. He _is_ his guy. And this means Nate is close. Soon he'll have Brad.

 

_Friday, June 25, 1997 (Brad is 26)_

Brad is helping Julia into his car after a _Rage Against the Machine_ concert when a shorter guy in combat fatigues comes marching towards him.

"You Brad?" He asks. Brad frowns at him, wondering what the hell some army brat wants.

"Yeah?"

"You must be some big shit." The man comments. "Nate says hello."

"Who the hell is Nate?" Brad asks. The guy grins slowly.

"Yeah, figured it wouldn't be someone like you." The guy turns and keeps walking.

"What was that about?" Julia asks when he slides into the driver's seat.

"Guy thought I was someone else." Brad says. "Let's get out of here."

That night, after Julia has already dozed off in his bed, he wonders who this Nate is, and who out there looks the same and is named Brad. He decides it doesn't really matter and falls asleep a moment later.

 


	12. Somewhere Out There

 

_Friday, January 11, 2002 (Nate is 22, Brad is 30)_

There’s frost on the window panes and a cold breeze coming in through the bottom of the back door. Nate thinks, _I really need to get that fixed_ , when he looks out the kitchen window and sees two girls outside. Brad steps into the kitchen to see what’s taking so long with the coffee and Nate holds up his hand before beckoning Brad closer.

The first girl he recognizes is Natalia, her blonde curls bouncing as she hops around to keep warm. The second girl has straight, blonde hair and she’s kneeling on the ground beside Natalia, talking intently to her. She looks maybe nine or ten years old.

“Who is that?” Nate asks when Brad is standing right next to him.

“That’s Natalia.”

“Yes, but who is that with her?”

Brad chuckles softly and puts his hands on Nate’s shoulders, rubbing out the tension he finds there. “Nate, that’s Natalia when she’s older. She’s time travelling.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Nate breathes, staring in fascination at the two girls. Suddenly, the older Natalia stands up and takes her young self’s hand and pulls her towards the house. They enter through the living room, where Ray and Walt are.

Nate and Ray enter the living room a second later, Ray and Walt staring at their older daughter who is grinning madly at them. Little Natalia grins over at her uncles and says,

“Look! It’s a big Natalia!”

The older girl turns and stares at them before her bottom lip begins to tremble. Without warning, she launches herself at Brad as she begins to cry. Brad grabs her tightly and knows exactly what the problem is.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers to the girl softly so no one else can hear. “Don’t tell them. You can’t tell them.”

Natalia leans back a little to stare at him and then nods almost imperceptibly.

“Natalia?” Walt asks slowly. The girl turns and runs for her father, climbing into his lap. “Where are you coming from?”

“2009.” Natalia says, glancing at Brad quickly. “I was actually in school when I came here. In the middle of the test. I’m sure my teacher is going to _love_ that.”

“Oh, good, she’s got my sense of humor.” Ray comments idly, holding his daughter’s hand.

“Wait, does you teacher…know?”

“Yeah,” Natalia nods, looking once again at Brad. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Tell them?” Brad eyes her warily.

“About CDP.”

“Oh, no, I guess it…slipped my mind. I had other things to worry about.”

“Brad and I have CDP.” Natalia tells her fathers and Nate. “It’s Chrono-Displaced Person. Dr. Sledge is my doctor and he’s gotten really far in figuring it all out.”

“Are there…more of you?” Nate asks incredulously.

“I haven’t met any, but I’ve heard there are a few in the world. It’s nice to know, though, that I’m not alone.” She pauses and then corrects herself, “That _we’re_ not alone.”

“Do you-“

“Shit,” Natalia puts a hand to her head and then sighs. “I’m going.” She quickly kisses Walt’s cheek and then hugs Ray. “I’ll see you guys in a couple of years-“

She’s gone.

Later in the evening, after Ray and Walt have taken a sleeping Natalia home, Nate slides into bed beside Brad, who is lying in the dark but far from asleep.

“What was that about today?” Nate asks him. “Why was she so upset when she saw you?”

Brad is quiet for a while, his hand carding through Nate’s hair while he tries to put his thoughts together. “Will I get away with not telling you?”

“No.” Nate tells him softly.

“You really don’t want to know, Nate.” Brad promises him.

“Brad,” Nate breathes, sitting up and staring down at his husband in the dark. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to imagine the worst.”

“I…that’s probably for the best, Nate.”

Nate squeezes his eyes shut. _What is the worst that can happen? What is it?_ Suddenly, a memory comes to mind of his childhood and running outside to see Nix and his father with Brad, outside in the cold.

“1991,” Nate suddenly says.

“What?”

“I think that’s where it happens.”

“Where what happens?” Brad frowns at him in concern.

“Whatever it is you’re afraid to tell me.”

“I don’t-“

“Do you remember when you first met my family at Christmas? And you asked if Nixon had ever met you and I told you about being outside with Nix and my dad.”

“I…sort of? I guess?”

“Dad and Nixon were out deer hunting in the woods really early in the morning and I heard you calling my name. I ran out into the meadow to find you and you were there. But you and dad and Nixon were all looking at something I couldn’t see but then Nixon took me back at the house.”

“Oh,” Brad nods slowly.

“I went back later in the day to see what you all had been looking at and there was a place soaked in blood.” Nate suddenly feels himself crying and he lurches forward. Brad holds him tightly and Nate chokes out “The worst-“

“It’s okay, Nate.”

“But-“

“Shh,” Brad shakes his head and they fall asleep like that. Nate wonders what Natalia went home to. She dreams of wrapping her arms around her uncle and then wakes up to find…what?

 

Wednesday, October 2, 1991 (Nate is 13, Brad is 34)

Brad knows how it will end, now. In the meadow, he will trudge through the snow in a dark coat and wool boots and try to get into the Reading Room without being spotted. In the distance, a crack will sound out and Brad, being too curious, will go to investigate. A flash of bright orange, hunters. Another crack and then Brad hears something the hunters do not.

A shuffling, scratching, something or someone pulling themselves through the frost and cold and heaving air through tired lungs. Another crack, and Brad hears himself scream, “ _Nate_!”

Brad waits for the hunters to move closer, but there is only silence. Suddenly, they appear in their blaze orange glory and stare at him. In his bedroom, Nate will hear the cry and jump out of bed to find him.

They stare at one another and then at the lazy trail of blood a few meters away and then small feet will be heard crunching over the frost in a hurried pace and then small, fragile Nate will appear with wild eyes and frozen cheeks. Nixon will bring him back to the house and Brad will wave to him and then Nate’s father will tell him to watch out for hunters in his dark clothes and then trudge after his son and friend.

Brad stays, stares, and memorizes the pattern of blood left on the grass and he will feel a cold chill that has nothing to do with cold outside and instead he will fear for his life, but not _his_ , not _yet_ , and he will know that somewhere out there, he is dying.

 

_Friday, January 18, 2004 (Brad is 38)_

He is bleeding and he is cold. He is in a parking lot that he doesn’t recognize and that he can’t see through his blurred vision. There’s a hole in his chest that hurts like hell and that he can’t do anything about and he is dying, just like he knew he would all those years ago on that cold October morning.

 

_Thursday, March 30, 2002 (Nate is 22, Brad is 33)_

“Uncle Brad?” Natalia asks one night when she is staying at their house.

“Yes?” Brad sets down his book and watches her climb into the couch next to him. Nate hears the question in his study and quietly creeps down the hall to peer into the living room at the two.

“Are you dying?”

Brad’s eyes focus intensely on the girl and Nate’s frown deepens.

“No.”

“Natalia said you-“

“That’s in the future, sweetheart.” Brad tells her seriously. “Not yet. Tell Natalia she shouldn’t say things like that to you.” He looks up and sees Nate standing in the doorway but before he can say anything, Walt and Ray appear to take Natalia home. Brad stares at him the whole time and when finally they are alone, he says,

“First question. Go ahead.”

“When?” Nate crosses his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know.”

“You _do_ know.” Nate snaps. “I _know_ you know. When?”

“About four or five years.”

 “Jesus.”

“Nate, I-“

“Please don’t.” Nate holds up his hand to stop him and Nate is crying and then Brad is crying, but they do not touch because that is a pain that would break them both.

 

_2002-2007_

They live life normally. They go about their business and they make love and they hang out with Walt and Ray but there is a gap that has been placed in Nate’s heart and in Brad’s mind that tells them that soon, soon, soon Brad will be gone and who the hell knows when or if he’s coming back?

Nate works and writes and Brad reads and works and they both orbit the other like always and they love like their lives depend on it, but this glass house they are living in will one day break and neither is sure they will survive the fallout.

 

_Saturday, December 31, 2008 (Nate is 30, Brad is 38)_

Brad hates Christmas and he hates parties, but Christmas is over and they’re only inviting close friends, so Nate doesn’t give a damn what Brad wants.

Brad, however, is quiet and he knows that this is it. This is the day that his life will flash before his eyes and he sees his lovely parents, both dead and new, and he sees Eugene and Merriell and Walt and Ray and Natalia and friends from Nate’s work and friends from the beach that Brad drinks with sometimes and Nate is there looking lovely and Brad has to stand in a corner for a while by himself to realize that there is nothing left to do. The will is written and Nate is happy and there is nothing that can change what has to happen.

He goes outside around ten o’clock to get fresh air and to clear his head and a moment later Ray joins him on the back porch.

“It’s fucking freezing out here, old man.” Ray comments bitterly.

“You’ve gotten soft, asshole.”

“Never,” Ray grins and pulls a flask out of his pocket. He takes a swig and then passes it to Brad.

“Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for everything.” Brad tells him earnestly. “You’ve been the best-“

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ray demands, turning to glare at him in the dark, cold night. Brad smiles sadly at him.

“Time is up, Ray. Game over.”

“You…when?”

“Soon.”

“ _How_ soon?” He demands.

“I don’t know.” Brad lies with a shrug. Very, very soon, he knows. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I know I can be a pain in the ass every now and then, and so can you,” Ray laughs. “But it’s been a hell of a ride with you and I wouldn’t change a thing. I love you, Ray, my brother.”

They stand in a silence for a long time and then Ray shifts and puts his hands in his pockets. “We should go back in.” He says.

“I’m going to stay here for a little bit. Could you have Nate come out?”

“Jesus, are you doing this all right now?”

“No, I – there are other things that we need to say.”

“Yeah, sure.” Ray claps him on the shoulder, hesitates, and then pulls him into a tight embrace. He pulls away and heads inside and Brad pretends not to see him wipe at his eyes that same way Ray pretends not to see the redness of Brad’s own.

When Nate goes to find Brad, he runs into Gene Roe instead. He’s talking quietly with Merriell Shelton in the corner, which makes Nate’s eyebrows rise interestedly as he approaches.

“Hey, Gene. Glad you could make it.” Gene looks sad and Nate knows that Babe had died a couple months earlier. “Have you seen Brad?”

“Yeah, we just saw him outside on the porch.” Merriell tells him. Gene nods and looks at Nate curiously.

“I’m worried about him, Nate.” Gene says. “He seems sad and…he reminded me of…Babe…when he wasn’t expecting to be around much longer.”

Nate’s stomach tightens painfully. “He’s just a little-“

“I know.” Gene raises his hand. “But he was talking like he was getting on a train that was leaving very _soon_.” He lowers his voice. “He told me he _loved_ me, which for guys like Brad isn’t something they do unless they don’t expect to be around, you know?”

Merriell heads off and Nate slips into his vacated seat to wrap his arms around Gene’s skinny frame. He looks tired and sad and thin and _angry_.

“Jesus, I was supposed to die before everyone else, you know? I think I earned the right to have everyone I care about file past my casket and say, ‘he died with his boots on’, you know? I’m counting on Brad to be there to quote Donne, ‘Death, be not proud, you stupid motherfucker’, or some shit like that. It’ll be beautiful.”

Nate laughs tearfully. “Well, if Brad can’t make it, I’ll come. I do a mean Brad Colbert impersonation. ‘One short sleep past, we wake eternally, and Death shall be sitting in the kitchen in his underwear at three in the morning, doing last week’s crossword puzzle’-“

Gene wheezes out a laugh and Nate kisses his cheek before going outside to find Brad. He’s standing where Ray left him, staring up at the stars and shivering slightly.

“Come inside,” Nate says, wrapping his arms around Brad’s waist. Brad kisses the top of his head, his arm sliding around Nate’s shoulders.

“I wish I could stop time.” He says softly. Then, “Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s time.”

Nate blinks up at him. “What?”

“I’m…I-“

“Oh, god.” Nate’s head drops to his chest, his chest squeezing tightly. “Jesus…just…stay, okay?”

“It’s already happened, Nate.” Brad reminds him gently. “Here, let’s sit.” He pulls up one of the deck chairs and Nate settles in his husband’s lap, head tucked into the curve of Brad’s neck. Brad’s hand runs soothingly up and down his back. Inside the house people are laughing and dancing and Nate wishes he could be so carefree.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nate demands. “Why did you let me invite all these people?” He wishes he weren’t angry, but he is.

“I didn’t want you to be alone.” Brad tells him. “I wanted to say goodbye, that it’s been good, it was a good last hurrah.” They are quiet a long while and then Brad asks, “What time is it?”

“A quarter to midnight,” Nate says, checking his watch. He looks up at Brad. “I’m scared.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Why can’t we _do_ something?” He begs, face falling and tears streaming down his cheeks. “Stop it. Refuse it. _Change_ it.”

“Nate,” Brad breathes, kissing him long and slow just like the beginning of it all. Like nothing has changed. Nate could be six and Brad old, Nate could be thirteen and Brad kissing him for the first time, Nate’s eighteenth birthday and his first sexual experience, Nate and Brad getting married-

Nate is alone on the cold porch. Inside, people begin counting down and then champagne bottles are popped open and people are cheering and it is 2009 and Nate is alone. He puts his head in his hands and he waits.

 


	13. The Journey to Normal

 

Wednesday, October 2, 1991 (Brad is 38)

He comes to naked in the frosty morning air, shivering with numb toes. He rolls onto his side and vomits, the shaking making him move like he’s having a seizure. Suddenly, he hears the creeping sounds of a branch snapping and he gets to his feet, crouching in the frozen woods.

A sharp crack rings out and Brad feels a sudden pain in his chest. He looks down and groans softly. He’s been shot. Brad had never been shot before. Another crack sounds and the bullet whizzes past Brad’s ear. He falls to his hands and knees and desperately starts crawling, calling frantically for Nate even though he knows the boy can’t help him here. He collapses onto his forearms and lets out a weak sob as he begins to disappear.

 

Friday, January 18, 2004 (Brad is 38)

He is bleeding and he is cold. He is in a parking lot that he doesn’t recognize and that he can’t see through his blurred vision. There’s a hole in his chest that hurts like hell and that he can’t do anything about and he is dying. He has no idea where he is, but he’s close to a phone so he starts dragging himself towards it.

He pulls himself into a sitting position against the freezing wall and lifts up the phone. Some saint left a quarter in the stall for anyone who might need it. Brad sends up a silent prayer and dials his and Nate’s phone number.

The answering machine picks up just as his hand disappears and the phone dangles from the cord. He leaves behind nothing but a blood stain on the concrete floor and fingerprints on the phone receiver.

 

 Monday, April 18, 2009 (Nate and Brad are 30)

Nate is eating lunch at the sandwich shop a block from the Senator’s office when his phone starts buzzing on the tabletop. Nate picks it up and sees Natalia’s name flash on the screen. Smiling, he answers.

“Hello?”

 _“Nate! Hi!”_ The girl exclaims.

“Shouldn’t you be at school?” Nate asks her.

_“No, I’m at the library with my class.”_

“Oh, why are you calling me? Is everything okay?” Nate asks, taking a bite of his sandwich.

_“No, everything is fine. Listen, Nate…”_

“You’ve discovered aliens, haven’t you.” Nate deadpans.

 _“No!_ _Brad is here_ _!”_ She sounds so happy.

Nate’s stomach flips and he drops the sandwich onto the table.

_“He’s…there? With you?”_

_“Yeah! Here, I’ll let you talk to him.”_ As she hands the phone off to Brad, Nate attempts to grasp the concept that he is about to talk to Brad. Probably a younger version of his Brad.

 _“Nate?”_ Brad’s voice is like honey and wine mixed in one. Nate has never heard anything sound so good.

“ _Brad!”_  Nate can’t help the sob of joy that escapes him. He tosses all of his stuff into the garbage can and rushes out of the sandwich shop. “Oh, god, come home!”

 _“I’ll try, but-“_ Brad sounds unsure and confused.

“Where are you coming from?” Nate asks him.

 _“2001,”_ Brad answers. _“Right before the attacks.”_

“Oh,” Nate thinks back and realizes that Brad doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t know about Natalia or about the accident. Dear god, “So you don’t know yet.”

 _“Don’t know_ _what_ _?”_ Brad says, frustrated. _“Why are you two acting so strange? And what does Natalia mean I’ve been gone for three months?”_

“Brad, this really isn’t – Listen, I’m coming right now. Just wait there, okay?” Nate pleads with him. He can hear Brad huff, but he hopes he’ll understand that Nate needs to see him, needs to touch him.

 _“Okay_ ,” Brad says and Nate is hanging up before he can say anything else. He makes a mad dash for his car and throws himself inside, pulling into traffic and rushing for the library as fast as he legally can.

He pulls into the parking lot in a hurry and dashes for the entrance, begging God for Brad to still be inside. When he’s just about to open the door, Natalia and Brad exit and they’re standing face to face. Brad looks so amazing and wonderful, a sight that Nate has craved like he craves oxygen.

He realizes he’s crying at the same moment that he reaches Brad, pulling him into a kiss that is all teeth and tongue and so animalistic, if Nate was in his right mind, he’d be embarrassed for Natalia to see them this way.

Suddenly, Nate is holding onto thin air and Natalia’s eyes are brimming with tears and Nate grabs her and they hold each other for a long time on the steps of the library.

 

Saturday, August 12, 2009 (Nate is 30)

“He was at your house?” Nate is standing at the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the backyard where India is playing with Walt and Ray’s dog Val.

“Yeah, just sitting on the porch with Natalia when we got home.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“He was coming from 2001, just after he started helping Natalia with time travelling.” Ray tells him. “That’s all we got before he disappeared.”

“I’m really sorry, Nate.” Walt tells his brothers. Nate clenches the countertop harder.

“Why doesn’t he come _here_?” Nate demands. “Why does he never show up at _our_ house with _me_?”

“I don’t know, Nate.” Ray tells him seriously.

“What if he never comes back?” Nate whispers into the silent space between them.

Walt and Ray exchange a look before Walt stands and hugs his brother from behind.

“We deal with it one day at a time, Nate. One day at a time.”

 

_2010_

Brad doesn’t return. He doesn’t even miraculously appear from the past for a few minutes. They do not see him or speak to him; he’s a ghost who is hiding from them all.

Nate vetoed a funeral a year after Brad disappeared. No body meant Brad wasn’t really dead which meant there was no need for an empty casket to be buried in the ground underneath a meaningless piece of stone.

He grieved in his own way, curling up at night and sobbing until he couldn’t breathe. He would stay in bed the whole weekend and sleep, dream about Brad’s voice and his mother’s hair. This wasn’t supposed to happen to them; Nate had done his waiting. Nineteen _years_ worth of waiting, in fact. He shouldn’t have had to wait anymore for Brad to come home.

But he did. He sat up late at night begging Brad to show up at all. Even if he was a bloody corpse, it would have been better than the not knowing.

 

_2011_

He still doesn’t return.

 

 _Saturday, February 21, 2012_ (Nate is 32)

“You need to talk to someone, Nate.” Walt pleads. “You’re losing weight and you’re not sleeping and you are _killing yourself_. You need to see someone.”

“And tell them what?” Nate snaps at him. “Tell them that my husband time travelled somewhere and never came back? I will sound like a _crazy person_ and they’ll lock me up.”

“Nate, if you continue like this, you are going to kill yourself. I refuse to let that happen.”

“Just let it _go_ , Walt! I’m sick and tired of everyone telling me how to _deal_ with this! I’m fucking _trying_ ¸ okay? I’m fucking _trying_ to get my life together, but what am I supposed to do when there’s this huge fucking hole in my chest that won’t go away because he won’t come _back_?”

 

_Tuesday, July 29, 2012 (Nate is 32, Brad is 38)_

Nate is awoken at two in the morning by the telephone ringing. Groggily he reaches over and picks it up, putting it to his ear without glancing at the caller ID.

“’Lo?”

_“Nate?”_

Nate sits up in bed. “Eugene?”

_“Nate, Brad is in the hospital with a gunshot wound in his chest. He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s in surgery, but they think he’ll make it. Get down here, alright?”_

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

When he gets to the hospital, Dr. Sledge is standing in the entryway waiting for him, Merriell standing silently next to him.

“He’s here?”

“Yeah,” Eugene nods, walking him towards the front desk. “They found him in library across town, the one he used to work at? He was a bloody mess and barely breathing. He was also naked and suffering from severe hypothermia, but that might have actually saved his life.”

“How?”

“It slowed the bleeding. He didn’t lose as much blood as he probably should have. Wendy,” the woman at the front desk turns to look at them. Eugene points at Nate. “This is the GSW’s husband.”

“Ah, okay.” The woman, Wendy, nods and stands up. “If you’ll follow me, we’re going to need to ask a few questions about your husband.”

They bring Nate into a private conference room with two nurses and one of the doctors who checked Brad in.

“First, what is your husband’s name?”

“Brad Colbert.”

“Date of birth?”

“August 25, 1970.”

“Do you happen to know why he was bleeding out, naked, in the library across town?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.” Nate shrugs, buzzing with anticipation to see his husband.

“Well, he’s out of immediate danger. The good news is the bullet was intact and there was no bone fragments. He should make a full recovery on that front. The bad news is the hypothermia. We were unable to save three toes on his left foot and two on his right.”

“If that’s as bad as the news gets, I’m going to be just fine.” Nate says.

“If you’ll follow me, please.” They lead him into the post-op room where Brad is lying in a bed, covered in thick blankets, looking pale and tired and so much _real_ that Nate gasps and begins to cry. He falls into the seat beside the bed and grabs Brad’s hand.

“I’ll call Walt and tell him.” Eugene says quietly. Nate nods absentmindedly, and when everyone has left them alone, he brings Brad’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs gently. “You’re home.”

 

Brad wakes up a few hours later, disoriented and in a lot of pain. Each breath shifts his chest in an uncomfortable rhythm and his feet are hot and stinging. He turns his head slightly and sees Nate next to him. He looks older, his hair longer than Brad remembers. He wonders how much time he’s missed this time.

He tries to adjust himself and this wakes Nate up. Nate lurches and glances over at him before becoming more alert.

“You’re awake!”

“Yeah,” Brad’s voice is hoarse and Nate automatically puts a straw to his lips to drink from a cup of water. “How…long?” He asks.

“It’s 2012.” Nate tells him. Brad blinks at him, not comprehending. It takes a minute or two before Brad frowns and looks rather upset.

“Three years?”

“Yeah,” Nate nods. “You’ve been gone a long time.” He leans forward and kisses Brad’s forehead. “But you’re home now, and that’s all that matters.”

 

There’s no explanation for how Brad could skip almost three years of his life. He also stops travelling afterwards, never once fading in and out of time like he used to. Eugene theorizes that it had to do with trauma that Brad experienced when he was shot, and the likelihood that his heart stopped beating was what shorted out that part of his brain.

Whatever it was, it saved Nate and Brad’s life. Nate no longer worried constantly about Brad disappearing, and Brad no longer worried about never coming back.

For now, they lived the life they had never been given: a _normal_ life. Of course, Natalia disappeared at random points, but when she returned she would tell adventurous stories about her time with her dads in 2003 or her experience with zoo animals in 1984, before she was even born.

Brad’s injuries healed and Nate’s heart scarred over where it had once been broken; things began to settle into a natural rhythm.

And yes, they certainly and completely _lived_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not beta read, so I apologize for any mistakes I made. I hope this ending was everything you hoped for!


End file.
